#probably has burn out syndrome

[winn-wynn]

Percy and Oliver is autism x adhd couple but I will argue that Percy has adhd while Oliver has autism

[dilfhos]

.

[dotster001]

When You Escape Him, Staff

Summary: Yandere staff x gn!reader. He adopts a child that looks like the two of you. You run to give you both a chance at life. You never expected him to find you.

CW: yandere content, Stockholm syndrome, blackmailing, potentially ooc?, the void, implied previous injury,

A/N: It's finally finished! There are some spin off stories coming but they will not be weekly updates. I'll write them when I write them. Also, I know I said that I'd put out a poll for what series would get weekly updates, but I've gotten so many questions about Elder God, that I'm gonna do that one. Probably won't be Sunday's, but whenever I release the next part will start the cycle.

Heartslaybul Savannaclaw Octavinelle Scarabia Pomefiore Ignihyde Diasomnia Non NRC

Three years into your relationship, he had come home and placed a baby in your arms.

"They were left in a box, all alone. And, well, he looks like if the two of us had a child," he sheepishly stared at the ground. "I just, I just figured it must be a gift from the seven."

You knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to tie himself to you through this boy. He looked just like him, and you were disgusted and scared.

Until he opened his eyes for the first time, and you found yourself staring into your own.

And you knew. You had to give this child the opportunity for a better life. A life without him.

In the end, your son did the opposite of what he had intended. And the first moment you could, the two of you had escaped.

To this day, you had no idea how you had escaped. But you had, and you'd been able to smuggle yourselves off the island and far away.

Your son had started to display signs of magical ability when he was three. You hoped it stayed a miniscule amount, considering you'd heard some people were just magic sensitive.

By the time he was eight, you realized you were not going to be lucky. By the time he turned twelve, you were burning the flyers that the dark mirror magically sent out. By sixteen, you and your son were full on panicking about the scouts that might come by to observe him, and the acceptance letter that would show up at the house.

It was a completely normal day. You'd gone to pick up your son from school, when his teacher excitedly came out to meet you.

“I have amazing news! A representative from NRC came today to test a few of our students!”

You froze.

“S/N was one of the one's they called, and he's been being tested for hours now! He's a shoe in! You must be so proud!”

You nodded rigidly, a stiff smile on your face.

She led you inside, and to one of the teacher conference rooms. Up to this point, you knew there was a chance it wasn't him. If it was anyone else, you could bargain with them.

The door opened, and your hopes were dashed.

“Ah! Welcome, welcome! I was just telling our precious chick that he has a place waiting for him among the students of our esteemed academy! He's almost as powerful as his papa! I couldn't be prouder!” At the last statement, Crowley brushed away an invisible tear.

“And I told him that I have no interest,” your son muttered angrily as he stared down at the table.

Crowley didn't react to what sounded like not the first refusal your son had given, and patted his lap excitedly.

As though everything was normal and you'd just go back to the nest.

“S/N,” you said coldly, calling him to your side. It wasn't like you were alone. If you and your son ran, shouting along the way, surely one of the teachers would hear you and get help. Your son stood to walk over to you.

It happened in seconds. His golden eyes flashed in mild irritation, and by the time you reacted he had already entered your space, and hoisted you over his shoulders.

“I consider myself a very magnanimous person, but you are pressing my patience.”

You shouted obscenities at him, trying to fight your way out of his grip, but to no avail.

“Stop squirming, or I will have to clip your wings-”

“Leave them alone!” Your son shot a fire spell at Crowley. A field around him blocked it, but he gazed at his son in parental pride.

“Just like his papa!”

“YOU'RE NOT MY PAPA!” He screamed, a blaze of fire exploding from around him.

It wasn't his fault he'd lost control. But you had a brief moment where you realized that without the field around Crowley, that would have killed you. As it was, the room was ablaze, and quickly growing out of control, causing your son to forget his anger, and panic.

Crowley sighed, and set you down. He summoned his staff, and quickly doused the fire. Then he turned to your son.

“I am a very generous man. I can pay for the damages done to the school. Which, judging by what I am seeing, is extensive. However, you both must come back to the nest.”

Your son just stared at him.

“If I don't pay for it, how do you think either of you is going to be able to pay this off? Especially not when word gets out that you attacked the Headmage of NRC. You will spend the rest of your life in debt that will continue to grow.”

“You're bluffing,” your son spat.

He definitely wasn't bluffing. You knew exactly what lengths he was willing to go to. You couldn't look him in the eye, opting to stare at the floor as you whispered,

“We'll come with you.”

“No!”

“We don't have a choice. Trust me, I know.”

“Aw, don't talk like that, treasure,” he said happily, scooping you back up and nuzzling his cheek against yours.

Your son looked at you with heart broken eyes. But there was nothing you could do. You'd always known what it looked like when he'd beaten you.

He'd let you leave…

You never wrapped your head around it.

He'd let you leave. Watched you walk out the door with your son. Hadn't said a word.

And he hadn't come after you. 

It had been four years since then. You'd been doing as well as a single parent could do.

Any accounts you had created and hid from him, your government paperwork, your social media accounts; all of it was gone. The second you stepped foot out of his mansion, he'd canceled and frozen anything and everything you had in your name. You had started from square one.

But you were alive. And so was your son. You had found a job, and had built a small life for the both of you.

But this most recent set of bills was going to upset the delicate balance.

You stared down at the statements, and sighed. You wanted to cry. You'd fought so hard. But it all amounted to nothing. The weight of the world was crushing you, and it was all you could do to keep yourself from letting it show to your son.

An unknown number appeared on your phone. You picked up. Probably a debt collector. Maybe you could come up with an excuse.

“Are you done playing pretend? You're not cut out to be a stray.”

You stiffened.

“How did you get this number?”

“You're not in a position to ask me questions. How does it feel to be all alone? To bite your master, then get beaten by a wild pack of wolves?”

You stared back down at the bills, biting your lip.

“Nothing to say?” You could hear the amusement in his tone. It disgusted you, but he was right. You weren't in a position to fight him.

“What do you want?” You spat.

“I want you to admit you need me. That you can't support yourself and the pup, and that I'm the only one who is able to properly take care of you.”

“What the fuck-”

“I want you to tell me that you understand that a dog is useless without a master to care for it.”

“Gah! I'm not saying anything like that!”

“Alright,” he spat, hanging up before you could say anything else.

You angrily slammed your phone against the table. 

“What's going on?” You heard your son's sleepy voice say. You turned over your shoulder, and saw him rubbing his eyes, staring at you sleepily. He was so small. So innocent. He deserved so much more.

You opened your arms, and he ran into them, snuggling against you.

“Baby, how would you feel if Daddy brought us home?”

“Daddy?”

“Yeah. We got separated, but I think he found us. Which means-”

“Daddy could take us home?”

You felt bile rise in your throat. Home. Home was stolen from you forever when a certain alchemy professor had decided you were his. But maybe home would be different for your boy. And you couldn't take that from him.

“Yeah,” you whispered.

You redialled the unknown number, half expecting him not to pick up. But he did, immediately.

You put it on speaker, and after a moment of silence, you heard, “Well?”

Your son was faster than you.

“Daddy, please come get us!”

Crewel’s breath hitched, and his voice was infinitely more tender when he spoke again.

“Of course, puppy. Daddy's coming to get you.”

Your son looked up at you with excited, warm eyes. Maybe this was for the best. It would be selfish of you to keep putting him through this. He had a father who would give him the stars in the sky if he so much as looked at them a certain way. Meanwhile, you could barely take care of yourself.

“We'll be waiting,” you said quietly.

You half expected him to go back to sounding angry and disappointed. Instead, he released a soft sigh, and said in a voice so kind that it brought tears to your eyes, “I've missed you, love.”

Sam's "friends" used to frighten you. They were the one's in charge of keeping you quiet in the back room while he worked. 

Over time, you'd grown to tolerate them. They were terrifying. But they left you alone for the most part.

The day Sam had placed your son in your arms was the first time they'd spoken to you. You'd been alone, staring at your own hollow eyes in the mirror, reflecting on how you had to get this child away from him, when a whispery voice had hissed in your ear.

“We can free you.”

You'd refused to trade your soul, but you'd given up ten years of your life span. Over the years, they would update you if you needed to move. They would tell you what he was up to. They would hide you from new “friends�� who would try to find you. 

It was your son's 16th birthday. And something was wrong.

The "friend" who had offered you the deal in the first place was missing. They were always around, except for when Sam needed them. It was odd for them not to be there. 

And you, yourself, felt weird. You'd woken up to a tingle in the tips of your fingers, and a disco party in your chest.  You gotten up to wake up your son, then prepared him a birthday pancake. You placed a candle into it, and were about to light it, when it lit itself.

“Hello, friend,” you muttered. “Is something wrong? It's not like you to be gone for so long.”

You felt phantom fingers detangling a knot in your hair, and a voice hissed in your ear, “We serve more than just you.”

They sounded…oddly defensive. But you couldn't think about that now, because your son had just stumbled tiredly into the room.

“Aw, you shouldn't have,” he grinned when he saw the pancake. He leaned in and blew out the candle, before sitting down and digging in. You sat down in the seat next to him, digging into your own breakfast, when your “friend” released a hiss.

Suddenly, in the corner, a dark void opened up, and out stepped,

“Sam,” you whispered in terror, as you stood from your spot. You turned to your “friend” who was moving to join him.

“Hello, little imp. Long time no see,” he grinned at you, his eyes glowing bright lime as the room filled with fog from the void.

“Wait, I had a deal!” You shouted.

“We received a better offer,” your “friend”’s voice hissed with merciless glee. “Don't worry, we returned your ten years to you.”

“Damn, I wanted to see you for so long. But now that I see your face, I'm absolutely disgusted,” Sam spat bitterly.

The smoke wrapped around you like unbreakable ropes. You struggled against them, but they only grew tighter, quickly feeling suffocating.

He walked up to you, gripping your chin in his hand.

“I paid quite the price for you. And now I just want you to suffer like I did.”

“Wait-” your son cut in, seemingly finally able to break out of his shock.

This brought Sam's attention to him, his eyes filling with love and adoration.

“And there's my boy! Can you believe I spent years thinking a fate worse than death had befallen you?” Sam said sweetly.

“You're scaring me. Cut out whatever it is you're doing, and leave us alone!”

Sam's eyes flashed back to yours, a staff suddenly appearing in his hand.

“No. I made a deal after all.”

He stalked towards you, and you watched in horror as various shadow creatures restrained your son.

“I had to choose. You or my son.” The staff came up under your chin, pressing uncomfortably into your throat. “I used to worship you. And you gave me nothing,” he hissed. Then he smiled. “It wasn't that hard of a decision to make, really.”

His lips were pressed against yours, cutting off your air completely.

“Goodbye, Y/N,” he breathed against you. He then shoved you, and you fell backwards into darkness, his hate filled glowing gaze the last thing you saw.

“Please, just, don't tell anyone about us. He's not interested in becoming a mage.”

It felt like you were pleading for your life. Because you were. Crowley had arrived at your son's school to scout students for the college. The second your son had gotten word, he'd called you, and you'd rushed to the school, prepared with a lie about a doctor's appointment you'd both forgotten. Crowley moved far too fast though, and had already found your son.

“Y/N. My employees' well being is of great importance to me!” 

“I'm sure he's fine,” your son groaned in the seat next to you. “I really don't want to be a mage. So scout someone else, and leave us alone.”

Your boy was a good one. But his downfall was his strong sense of justice. You had never intended to tell him the lengths Ashton had gone to keep you, but he'd been relentless. You hadn't told him everything, but the both of you were pretty certain he might do something bad if he ever met the man.

Crowley looked at you both in disappointment. You remembered that look. It brought you back to your Ramshackle days when you were asking him to install heat, and he'd made you feel like you were asking for a million dollars. But you weren't his student anymore. You weren't his slave. He had no control over you.

“It would be a great shame for someone of your abilities to waste them. And besides,” Crowley’s disappointed frown turned into a frightening grin. “Around this time of year, a certain physical education professor gets rather whiney, and makes it everyone's problem. Now, whose fault is that?” 

“He's a big kid. If he can't move on, that's his own fault. And if it's a problem, you can fire him,” you said bluntly, not going to feel guilted for what you'd done.

Crowley leveled a glare at you.

“I gave you a home. I gave you money. I gave you an expensive education, for free. I allowed you to keep your cat, and eventually your son. You owe me.” He snapped his fingers, and the mirror in the corner swirled to life. Suddenly, he was behind the both of you, yanking you from your seats, and shoving you through the mirror.

You both landed in a patch of grass, right behind a burly man in a memorable red sweatshirt. He hadn't noticed you yet. You pressed your finger to your lips, and pointed to the nearby woods. Your son nodded, and you both turned slowly.

Only to bump straight into Crowley.

“For Seven's sake, Ashton! Get it together!” Crowley snapped, causing the man of the hour to finally look over his shoulder.

His eyes widened, and he ran straight for you, wrapping you in a hug so tight that you thought your ribs might break. Again.

“Ashton,” you wheezed, feeling the familiar feeling of panic you always felt when he was involved. 

“You're so scrawny,” he muttered in your ear. You were always “too scrawny” to him. But of course it would be the first thing he'd say to you after so long of being apart. 

“I can't believe you survived out there,” he boomed loudly, holding you by the shoulders at arms length, looking you up and down with a jovial smile.

“Put them down!” Your son snapped, shaking you out of your fear momentarily. You looked over your shoulder to see him tied up in Crowley's “whips of love”.

Ashton’s eyes brightened even further.

“Ha ha! You look just like your old man! A few hundred pushups, and you'll be just as strong as I am!”

“Fuck you!” 

Ashton's eyes darkened, and turned back to you, reigniting your terror tenfold. His grip on your shoulders tightened painfully.

“What have you been saying about me, Y/N?”

You shivered in terror. You knew that look.

“I didn't-”

“You don't deserve our love, you monster!”

Ashton tossed you to the side like you were nothing. You winced. He never seemed fully aware of what his strength was capable of. He marched up to your son, snatching him from Crowley.

“Looks like we need to do some training, to whip ya into shape.”

He snatched you under his other arm, storming off in the direction of the school.

“Vargas! Your students!” Crowley called after him, but he was completely ignored.

You were thoroughly soaked from the rain outside. You stood before him, staring at the ground in shame as he silently sipped tea, and studied you. Eventually, he sighed, standing up and placing the baby in the bassinet in the corner of his spacious bedroom. He returned to his seat, and sighed again.

“To say I am disappointed would be an understatement,” Mozus said sternly. 

The door had been unlocked. In a moment of stupidity, you'd taken the chance to grab the baby and run. You hadn't realized that Trein had put up countless charms around the estate, including one that allowed the topiary knights to drag you back to him. If that wasn't enough, it was pouring. A mud puddle had been your undoing.

You dripped onto the floor, awaiting the speech and upcoming punishment.

“Look at me when I talk to you,” he snapped, and you quickly looked up. His face and demeanor were calm, but his eyes glinted in anger.

“I trained you to be a better spouse than this. What in the Seven's names were you thinking?”

He paused, seeming to wait and see what brilliant answer you would provide.

“I don't know,” you whispered.

“You don't know. Well, do you have any hints?”

You honestly didn't. Things had been peaceful recently. Up until the moment you ran out the door, you had convinced yourself you were finally able to be happy here. But seeing that unlocked door had stirred something in you. A final rebellion. A chance for your son, who shouldn't have to grow up under Trein's tyranny.

Now that you were under his scrutiny, however, all of that seemed to fade away. Instead, you were filled with embarrassment and guilt.

“I'm sorry,” you whimpered.

His glare softened into pure disappointment. Which, somehow, made you feel worse.

“Sorry won't clean the mud off my carpet,” he said tiredly. He looked you up and down, before pouring himself another cup of tea. 

“I know.”

“You know I can't leave this unpunished?”

“Yes.”

He looked at you, unreadable, before he nodded to the door.

“Go clean yourself up, then wait for me in your room while I decide on your punishment.”

You nodded, trudging towards the door. Then the baby started to softly cry. Instinctively, you turned the child. Trein's expression turned soft, more tender. 

“Go ahead,” he said, his voice full of love.

You picked up the baby, and made your way to your room.

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

HONEY, I’M HOME ─── jackson rippner ✧♤

ೃ⁀➷ “You are the knife I turn inside myself; that is love. That, my dear, is love.” — ‘Letters to Milena’, Franz Kafka

pairing. jackson rippner x assassin!reader

summary. jackson hires a prostitute the night before meeting his target. only thing is, you’re not a prostitute— you’re an assassin hired to kill him. but he catches your eye, and instead, you keep him for yourself.

warnings. swearing, creampie, p in v, unprotected sex, slight housewife kink, kidnapping, drugging, pretty toxic relationship lmao, somnophilia, dubcon, hate-sex kinda, guns, choking, stockholm syndrome, cervix fucking, jackson gets a taste of his own medicine basically😭, SMUT UNDER THE CUT! 

word count. 6.1k

a/n. OKAY i know i said it was going into the direction of dom!reader but i got possessed and now,,, now we have this hate sex filth🫡

i. 

When Jackson comes to, the very first thing his mind registers in your perfume. It’s sweet and vanilla-y and entirely intoxicating, sending his mind whirling back to prehistoric days, childhood days, a vague mother figure he’d long forgotten about pressing sugar cookie dough onto a metal pan. 

Instead, as Jackson’s eyes fluttered open and adjusted to the bright, warm lamp-light curling around him and the various furniture in the room, he sees you, sitting in front of him on the floor. 

Your knees are pulled up and tucked under your chin, and it seems you’ve fallen asleep, your face peaceful and serene as soft inhales and exhales of breath leave you. 

You look like a pure angel, dolled up in a silk lace dress and neat bows so pristinely Jackson swore he could see a halo resting above your soft locks, but he knows you’re someone who can kill — has killed.

Jackson had been staying in a motel, readying himself to meet the target he was stalking the next day — some politico's daughter, y’know, perfect blackmail material — when you’d knocked on his door, dressed in a skanky skintight dress and garter belt, promising some fun for a flimsy fifty. 

Prostitution was illegal in this state, but Jackson had some money and time to kill — plus, if he didn’t get something now he’d probably fuck his target, which wasn’t really encouraged considering he could get attached, all that bullshit job professionalism. He wouldn’t, obviously, but his higher-ups didn’t think the same.

So he agreed; you looked stupid enough, and with that nice pair on you, those sweet curves, you were bound to be a good fuck. And you were definitely enough for him to handle— handle killing, he meant. It’d be easy: get you a little tipsy ‘cause it was his “kink” or some shit like that, kill you when you’re coming, dispose of your body, and meet the target in the morning. 

But then you’d kissed him, hungry and desperate and rough, and totally, completely, slipping the pill tucked under your tongue down his throat. 

Jackson realized immediately, his hands darting to the gun he had tucked in his belt, but you punched him in the stomach and the jaw before he could even undo the safety. And then he’d done it: he’d swallowed the drug, and the effects were instantaneous, the connection between his thoughts and his limbs losing focus, body sluggish like he was wading through water.

So suddenly had the situation had gone from him hiring a prostitute to getting fucking drugged by one, and he felt his composure slipping, the outrage burning in his lungs. Jackson thought himself to be a logical, well-thought out man who planned things to the tee, and this was not fucking following his plan. 

“What did you - do t’ me?!” He spat, voice growing slurred, bent over and clutching his stomach. 

“Mm,” you considered telling him, pursing your lips and watching him sway back and forth, “just a little something to calm you down. But, honey, I think you better sit down… it's not a mild drug.” 

“Answer my fucking—“ Jackson started caustically, then felt that familiar pins and needles sensation appear in his arms, then spread to his legs, before finally falling to the floor. 

“See?” You cooed, standing above him. You watched him struggle against the drug for a moment, before grinning and pulling him up off the floor onto the bed. 

Jackson listlessly fought your touch, slowly thrashing and kicking at you; his limbs may have grown numb, but his inhibitions had not lowered whatsoever, nor his paranoia. Good paranoia, in this situation, just not so good that it kicked in before you shoved a paralytic down his throat. 

You rolled your eyes, sitting down beside him and pushing his head onto your lap, digging your elbow into his chest to make him stay in place. 

Jackson choked at the pressure, blinking rapidly. “Who th- the -- fuck are you?” 

“I’m an assassin, honey. I’m gonna kill you — or, y’know, I’m supposed to kill you.” You beamed at him, “but I can’t do that, now can I? That’d be a waste of such a pretty face.”

Jackson’s brows knitted exasperatedly, mouth contorting to speak, but nothing came out. In fact, his mouth hadn’t been moving at all— his face had grown numb, now blankly staring up at you. 

“There we go,” you said happily. “The drug’s all kicked in now, hasn't it? I’ll speak freely, ‘cause y’can’t answer me anymore, not even scream or cry.”

You sighed, your shoulders slumping like you were finally able to fucking relax, and began petting his hair before continuing. “You’re a naughty one, aren’t you? Stalking that politician’s daughter… were you gonna fuck her? Threaten her dad, have some fun, then kill them both?” 

Jackson’s breathing grew more furious, eyes widening— or, they would’ve, if he could move. This was about his job, about the target, not just some fucking freak accident and a crazy prostitute. 

You frowned, shaking your head. “You’ve gotta do more research on the people you blackmail, honey— Mr. Politican’ll do anything to keep his little princess safe. Even murder.”

You then got up, and Jackson watched you pull something out of your tights, unable to respond or protest or even fucking move, frozen still on the cheap motel mattress.

“But like I said, you’re too cute to die like that. I think I’ll keep you for myself.” You winked, before pricking him in the neck with the needle that was hidden in your tights. 

His breath hitched, but there was no use: black quickly curled into the edges of his vision, and one second passed, then another, then he was out. 

That brought him back to now, waking up with his arms handcuffed behind him and his legs tied roughly to a wooden chair. He rustled, pulling against the cuffs as quietly as possible, gaze still obsessively trained on your every micro-movement.

But it didn't matter: your eyes opened the moment you’d heard his breath catch and stutter, and you got up lightly, dreamily, like you were some figment of Jackson’s imagination rather than a psychopathic kidnapping assassin. 

“Morning, honey,” you whispered, getting up off the floor, rubbing your eyes and yawning. But he didn’t respond, still pulling at his restraints, eyes thinned and focussed. 

“Are you mad at me?” You whined with a frown, circling around his chair and playfully covering his eyes. “I’ll make it up to you, don’t worry. I’ll buy some cute lingerie, give you a little show… do you like lace? Or maybe leather?”

Jackson’s nostrils flared, growing irate and incredulous at your antics, and he snapped. “Do you really think you can keep me here? Make me play fucking house with you?” He shouted groggily, body still feeling the aftereffects of not one, but two, drugs. 

You blinked numbly, hand finding his face, and you pressed his cheeks together, making him look up at you. “I won’t make you play house with me, Jackson. But it's the only thing you can do. You’re dead.” 

Your tone had gone cold, using his real name instead of your pet-one, expression going blank and completely unfeeling at his words. Then, you fumbled for something on the wooden vanity beside you two before lifting it up to his face. 

It read: TERRORIST GROUP LEADER’S REMAINS FOUND IN RED-EYE FLIGHT WRECK.

Jackson’s lips parted, feelings riddled half in shock and half in utter fury, gaze shaky as it flitted back and forth between you and the newspaper you were holding up. “I’m fucking—“

“Alive, I know. That’s kinda the point,” you finished his sentence with a chuckle, shaking your head like any of this was a joking matter. “When a plane goes down and catches fire, burning everybody, they won’t individually check who's who, honey. If there’s a name on the seat, there’s someone in it, and they’re dead… you’re as good as dead.”

Jackson’s eyebrows were still knit, but he suddenly stared straight ahead, listening to you silently and trying to make sure you were still too focussed on explaining theatrically to realize he was about to dislocate his thumb. 

He could deal with the stool later — he just needed to get his arms free and escape. What with your grating voice and the fucking pronunciation of death you’d forced upon him, god, his fury was rising quickly, and he wanted nothing more right now than to fucking kill you. 

You finished your explanation, peering deeply into his bright blue eyes, and you were about to wrap your arms around his neck and press him comfortingly to your chest when he successfully freed himself, and his hands shot out from behind him to strangle you. 

His fingers curled around your neck extremely easily, tightening and contracting around the thing snugly. Jackson was seeing red, the anger accumulated from every little insane fucking thing you did to him bursting. 

You struggled against him, your mouth opening and closing pitifully, leaning down into his grip— until your lips tilted upwards, a devilishly cheshire smile digging into your cheeks like it was an expression God never intended you to make. 

Jackson only realized you’d taken his gun away from him when he felt the tip of the barrel kiss his temple, cold and clammy. He was still disoriented, and didn’t exactly comprehend all the facts ‘till they fucking punched him in the face. Or, in this case, threatened to shoot him point blank. 

“L’mme - l’mme go, h’ney,” you whispered raspily, your eyes stuttering in their socket as he pressed deeper. Simultaneously, completely on instinct, you pressed the gun further into his skin.

“You’re too fucking weak to fire that gun,” he growled, digging his thumbs into the neat notch in the middle of your neck, his fingernails scratching bloody marks into your sensitive skin.

But you frowned weakly, and then Jackson heard that all familiar click, making him blanch. The strength in his hands didn’t falter, however— it got angrier, more desperate, like you wouldn’t automatically shoot him if he just translated his wrath into his grip.

“I d’nt- w’nna k-kill you,” you shook your head a bit, but both your threats remained the same: his hands making you go lightheaded, go blue, and the gun in yours making him sweat, the image of you splattering his brain against the wall clear as day. 

Jackson felt your finger twitch, and he closed his eyes, grip going tense then faltering completely: if you shot him now, there was no point holding on. But you did the same— you thought he’d snap your neck right then and there, so you pulled away.

Just as quickly as you two had attacked one another, your resolves’ had crumbled, murderous intent clearing the room like someone had opened a window and let it all out. Silence filled it back up instead, a steady tension permeating with it, and it was fucking suffocating. 

“What do you - want from me, exactly?” Jackson questioned first, several long moments later, words slow and collected. He’d try to calm himself and hide his anger away for later, because he now knew that you meant for him to meet only two ends here: forever with you, or forever dead— and neither were ends he was intending to have.

To escape, crawl under your nose and perhaps kill you along the way, he’d need to know the rules— play your little game. This cat and mouse mess could be done in a flash, and he fucking knew you had a weakness. He could feel it in your touch, how you gripped him, the lonely warble in your insane words. 

Sure, you kidnapped him and were calling him honey, treating him like he was your plaything, but Jackson had always been good at reading people, even before he’d become an amalgamated mess of an assassin, terrorist and blackmailer: you needed someone in your life— be it a husband or a hostage.

You got down on one knee, looking up at him through your wet lashes, breathing still ragged. One of your hands took his own dislocated one, while the other fished through your silk dress pockets, pulling out a gold band ring identical to the one gleaming prettily on your left hand. 

You didn’t answer his question saying for you to marry me or for you to love me— both things Jackson would expect you to say, especially with your oddly profound obsession with him (despite the fact he was positive you’d only known him for a few weeks at most.) No, you’d smiled, a lovely duchenne one, rosy-cheeked like a fucking schoolgirl confessing to her crush, not an assassin who’d kidnapped him, and said, “For you to be mine.” 

Your hand curled around his dislocated thumb and quickly snapped it, cruel and rough but perfectly back in place, before you slipped the ring onto his finger shakily, and brought his hand up to your lips to press a kiss to his knuckles. 

“You’re mine,” you repeated in a whisper, sounding every bit like a warning rather than a celebration. 

ii.

After a few days of living with— or, more accurately, being held captive by you, Jackson thought he had you all figured out. It usually only took a few days for him and a target to become acquainted anyway; mutual acquaintance or not.

He found that the warmer he treated you, the more freedom he’d have. Like, after you slipped the ring on his finger, you undid the ropes tying his legs. A reward, you’d said, for accepting your… unity. 

But you still switched out the clinky metal cuffs for zip ties. “I can’t have you doing that nifty little thumb trick anymore, can I?” you explained. “But I still want you to walk around. Take a tour of the rest of your life, honey.”

Then, you told him you had to go to work — to which Jackson rolled his eyes, considering assassination wasn’t exactly what he’d call work, though, he would also have to call himself a hypocrite — and left. Jackson wasn’t shy about roaming about the house, especially to look for a fucking escape, but he was firstly confronted with the sheer size of the place you’d locked him in. 

Where he’d first waken up was the master bedroom, long and wide with a king poster bed and canopy, a pair of couples vanities side by side, two walk-in closets and one large ensuite. The rest of the house was the same, being two stories tall and terribly extensive: Jackson ran out of fingers on his hands to count how many rooms were in it. 

By the time he’d combed through the entire house — discovering a measly two possible escape routes in the process — it was dark outside, and you entered through a front door Jackson couldn’t find for the fucking life of him. 

It was appalling, firstly how spontaneous and carefree you were whilst simultaneously thinking of everything that could go wrong, and secondly, how up to par your skills were to his. He wasn’t one to gloat, but he knew just as well as his coworkers that he was a large step above the rest— and it seemed you were, too, the only equal he’d encountered in his line of work… and the only person who’d bested him. 

“Honey, I’m home!” You sing-songed in the hallway, poking your head into each and every room for Jackson’s familiar form. 

Jackson had settled back in the master bedroom, sitting on the very chair you’d untied him from that morning, and when you finally found him you cooed. “Aw, baby, you don’t hafta’ stay here all day.” You said, lifting his chin to look up at you.

Jackson grit his teeth, his temper suddenly getting the best of him, and he spat at you. But the effect didn't work nearly as well as intended: you didn’t even wince, merely blinking and bringing two fingers to your cheek and wiping the slick off. You pouted at him for a second, made your eyes real big and pitiful, before kissing him on the cheek… and shoving your spit-slicked fingers into his mouth, making him gag. 

It looked like you were enjoying his suffering, before pulling away a moment later. “Well, no matter,” you said, brushing his actions off and regaining your happy mood. “I know you weren’t really here all day, honey.” 

Jackson’s lips parted, eyes thinning suspiciously. “What the fuck are you—“

You suddenly pulled out your phone, showing camera angles from all throughout the house… and more startlingly, previous footage of him, scouring the house’s windows and poking through the various furniture and rooms earlier in the day. “You are quite the curious cat.”

“You have a camera?” He asked indignantly. Honestly, he should’ve expected it: it’s like, what do you get when you have a captive itching to escape and an obsessive, head-over-heels captor with plenty of money on her hands? 

“Several,” you preened, “so don’t bother escaping.”

Then, you hooked your arm into his and dragged him to one of the (many, many) dining rooms.

“Now, I’ve never exactly had a hostage before,” you offered, pushing him into one of your cushy walnut dining chairs, “so I just realized you haven’t eaten. God, I’m so sorry, honey, you must be starving.”

With that, you ducked into the large kitchen a room away, and then returned holding a steaming plate of something, setting the dish down in front of him. “It’s not exactly, y’know, fine dining,” you said, picking up the spoon hidden in the food and scooping up some peas, “but it’s home-cooked. Not my home cooking, obviously, it is -- was, a target’s. I had a plate earlier, don’t worry, it’s good.”

Jackson stared at you, mind spinning with the information you were nonchalantly throwing at him: you were feeding him, your hand holding the cutlery, his mouth around it like he was fucking six, and the person who had made this food was dead, having had their throat slit or something. 

But there was another thing in Jackson’s mind, a tiny, weak voice within him that told him to just shut the hell up and eat the damn food. His survival instinct, probably, but then it went on to think that you weren’t that bad, feeding him and keeping him safe from the police in this nice, grand house— and Jackson squished the voice. No fucking way in hell was he experiencing early stage stockholm syndrome. 

At his reluctance, you frowned, and forced the spoonful in his mouth. “Eat,” you scolded, and fed him till the whole plate was finished. 

He ate, of course, not because of the little bitch voice in his head, but because of the fact that he actually was really fucking hungry. The gesture seemed to warm your heart, for some fucked up reason, and you later sat in the livingroom with him and loosened his zipties. 

There was a brief moment, however, that Jackson felt even an iota of fear: when his hands were slightly free, he immediately reached to grab you— he was taller, stronger, and could certainly defeat you in mere moments. 

But your sneaky fingers tightened his restraints at the drop of a hat, your head butting his jaw so he fell back on the couch. “Try anything,” you warned, tone suddenly dark, “and I will break your fucking wrist.”

At his tentative, jaw slightly dropped, shaky nod, a cold sweat beaming down from his temple, you dissolved into a fit of laughter at his expression and undid his ties once more. This time, your hand held his in an intimate death grip, thumb curled sweetly around the wrist, that warning still ringing in his head.

He was learning how to play the game, though. His captor’s behavior. What you liked, what you didn’t. The extent of your mercy. 

Jackson cleared his throat, searching for a question that might make you open up. “…What’s your name, anyway?” Yes, he didn’t even know your fucking name, and he doubted that the tacky prostitute name you’d given him initially was your real one. 

You looked up at him, surprised he’d speak first, nonetheless to know more about you. So, you indulged, and told him your name, things you liked, didn’t like, your hobbies… all normal people stuff— y’know, first date stuff. 

“I keep forgetting you don’t know a thing about me,” you confessed, leaning your head on his stiff figure, “‘cause I’ve known you for a very long time.”

Jackson’s breath hitched. “How so?” he said, trying not to give away his eagerness; he was going through all the steps he did when first meeting a target, like being kind and sweet, respectful and attentive, really buttering them up and coaxing information from them, before going in for the kill. In Jackson’s current case, the “kill” was a kiss. 

It’d be something chaste, nervous, like he was unwittingly slipping into your trap and couldn’t help the warmth bubbling within him toward you, so you would fall into his; hook, line, and sinker… and maybe completely undo his zipties. He’d have to lay low for a few days, obviously, and build up that obsessive trust of yours, before going in for the literal kill. 

But then again, Jackson, with that delirious little ego of his, kept forgetting your skills were up to par with his, and you were the first and only person to ever fucking best him. 

You grinned thinly, knowing exact what he was doing, noticed the pattern his words went in, trying to shepherd the conversation to get the answers he wanted, and you pulled away from him. “I’ll tell you another day, honey. M’gonna go to bed,” you whispered sleepily, redoing his zipties. “Join me. I don’t like it when you tire yourself out.”

And so you left, and Jackson watched your hips sway, legs carrying you down the long hallway into the master bedroom. As soon as you were out of direct view, he sucked in a sharp breath, seething angrily. 

Fuck, he thought, the realization of his predicament settling within in him at last. He’d always been told this: if you didn’t believe you could escape your situation within the first day, you would never escape at all. He thought it a silly mantra, because he’d always devised an escape plan after thinking on it for a few long moments. 

Never did he think he’d find himself in a situation where that actually fucking applied, never did he think he’d meet his equal, and never in his entire, terrorizing existence, did he think he’d be helpless.

But Jackson had to persevere. Had to. He had not survived every terrible incident thrown at him in his tired lifetime, just to accept this. And so, he went to bed with you, the zipties rubbing his pale skin raw, and he watched the shadows on the roof shift with every hour that passed. 

He did not sleep, certainly not with you by his side, and though it looked like it, you did not either. It was the paranoia of two terribly similar people; gaze dancing in the dark and never finding each others, waiting for the moment one of you snapped and you had to attack or defend. 

The next day, and the next day after that, he went to bed beside you. Just like that, turned into weeks turned into months turned into seasons changing, and the zipties became cloth became your hand holding his. 

It was a culmination of feigned loving, fake vulnerability, and pretending he’d gotten Stockholm syndrome that got him to this point. Every “honey, i’m home,” or kiss or hug or pet-name you stabbed into him, he returned with a “welcome home, honey”, a peck on the cheek, a hand holding yours, his venomous tone switched like a light into something sweet, soft. 

One night, with his newly ziptie-free arms wrapping around you, your back nestling sweetly against his torso, he has to remind himself that it is not real. None of it was real: he was not your husband, you were not his wife, you did not love each other, you were not normal fucking people— you were the captive and the captor. 

Jackson had to remind himself he didn’t actually love you, because that night he thought: if you used him, he would use you. He would take you whenever he wanted, like how you used him. A man has needs, he thought, and being trapped in this house with you meant those needs could be met. 

It reminded him of when you first met— not the kidnapping part, of course, but of the kissing and the touching, your tits pressing softly against his chest, his hands following the swell of your ass. 

With a start, he realized he’d had some kind of unintentional celibacy enacted upon him: he couldn’t fuck anyone other than you, obviously, having been trapped in that house, but he never entertained the idea of fucking you because he hated you. You don’t fuck the bitch you’re planning to kill any day now. 

But your warm body against his awoke something in him, his forced celibacy unable to survive against the pure lust he felt filling him now. You were beautiful, undeniably, with pliant thighs and delicate curves he could see himself getting between animalistically, roughly, a kind of morbid sexual revenge against your captivity of him. It helped entirely that this was the most vulnerable he’d seen you, completely without any weapons, curled warmly into his side. 

After studying your breathing for a few seconds, ensuring you were still asleep, Jackson carefully slipped away from you to kneel in front of you in the middle of the bed. He admired your night getup: those silk dresses you adored to wear at home, and absolutely no underwear. 

He then pried your soft thighs open slightly, dipping his head between them and losing himself in the sweet scent of your cunt, before chancing a stripe up to your clit. He flattened his tongue, wanting to collect your taste on it completely, and you merely sighed, turning over slightly and widening your legs in your sleep, like you somehow knew what he was doing and wanted it. 

He pressed his mouth up to your cunt fully now, his nose hitting your mound as he devoured you, tongue filling every crevice and fold you had like he was starving. Your small whimpers and breathy sighs grew louder now, more frequent, and then Jackson suddenly pulled away, satisfied with how he readied your hole.  

Jackson shimmed himself out of his boxer shorts, a pair with silly little hearts he’d never seriously buy for himself— you bought them, as soon as you’d captured him, clearly having fun with the utter control you could display on him, down to his fucking undergarments. 

He shook himself slightly, refocussing on the matter at hand: fucking into your glistening cunt. There was something oddly empowering about doing this to you when you couldn’t protest, regaining some control over his own fucking life by terrorizing yours. 

But he wasn’t sure you’d fucking care anyway: he knew you liked to peek around the corner when he was showering, “accidentally” walking in when he was in the middle of changing, not-so subtly bending down and pressing your ass to his crotch. 

He sighed slightly, rubbing his hand up and down on his hard length in the dark, before lining it up with your entrance. Jackson muffled the groan that curdled in his throat with his large hand, breathing shakily and finally pushing past your slick folds. You were soaking, and he didn’t know if it was because of his previous foreplay or if you were just naturally like this, all horny because he slept beside you at night. He wouldn’t put it past you if that was the case: your obsession with him was clear in every single way. 

You made a noise in your sleep, and Jackson froze, hands instinctively coming up to press lightly against your throat — an unconscious thing on his part, formed when his hands had been zip tied and the only thing he could do was choke you, unable to grip any weapon properly. But you didn’t wake up; your face merely screwed together, before smoothing out and returning to blissful unconsciousness. 

Jackson let out a sigh of pleasure and relief, your walls clenching around his pulsing cock. He gripped the sheets beside your head and began thrusting in and out of you: at first gently, afraid to wake you up, but as the minutes dripped past, Jackson grew desperate, fucking into your cunt roughly. He wanted to abuse your tight little pussy, stretch you wide open and take you for everything you had. 

“Fuck,” he grunted under his breath, snapping his hips harder against yours, “Fuck!” 

His exclamation of sexual satisfaction startled you awake, but he didn’t notice how your eyes moved behind your eyelids, too focussed on pounding his rock-hard cock into you. For all the insanity and behavioral issues God gave you, he certainly made up for it in the way he crafted your cunt: extremely warm and easily wet, a sticky hole that sucked him in but was still cramped, like it was begging him to force your walls open. 

“Honey?” you murmured foggily, wrapping your arms around his neck. You were about to speak again, when Jackson suddenly found your g-spot, and rammed continually into it, making a filthy mewl leave your lips. 

“Fuck, you woke up?” Jackson cursed, looking at you for the first time. His thrusts were unrelenting, though, now not caring if you’d woken up and just wanting to feel your hole squeeze around him again. 

“Jackson, I was - sleeping,” you squeaked out, hands moving to his back and digging your nails into the skin.

“That’s kinda the point,” Jackson mocked, tone sarcastic and peeved like you were interrupting him. “And don’t fucking fight it,” he warned angrily, hand leaving the mattress and roughly squeezing one of your tits through the fabric of your nightdress, “‘cause I’m not stopping ‘till I come.”

You pouted fake-sadly at his words, but your back arching gave you away, keening when he kneaded your tit too meanly and made a shock of pain run up your body. “Feels so good,” you grinned sweatily, but he just rolled his eyes.

“Shut up,” he sighed, throwing his head back, “didn’t fucking ask what you thought.” 

He pushed your face to the side so he was looking at your jaw, more content with treating you like just some hole, but you didn’t care: he, your darling, was fucking you. He wanted you so bad he fucked you when you weren’t even awake. God, you could’ve kissed him right then and there, but he probably would’ve hit you. (Not that you would mind… but you wanted your honey to take control, have it his way for a bit.)

Jackson rutted into you fast and selfish, your eyes rolling to the back of your head at the violent way he fucked you: your sick pleasure came at the expense of your weeping cunt, which was trembling in the stinging pain he was inflicting, cockhead stretching you wide. 

Then, Jackson’s hands slid down to your hips, so he could shove his cock deeper into your cunt, pressing his weight so heavily onto your chest you could barely breathe. He groaned; you were clearly affected by the action, bearing down on his cock suddenly, and he reveled in the ecstacy. 

He fucked you slightly and slower, and you only realized what he’d been doing when he leaned down to get a better angle, bullying the head of his cock against your cervix: he was trying to fuck into you further, push his dick so close, so snug against your womb that there was no doubt in hell his load would impregnate you. His actions were dictated not by any sense of reason, but by a crude, carnal desire, wanting nothing more but to make you scream. 

And you did scream alright, a breathy, brutal scream; a mix of whimpering pain at the way his head pushed against you, and of shameful, drooling pleasure, his delicious length making you feel fucking bloated, you were so full.

One of Jackson’s hands reached up to your head to pull your hair, making you whine at the pain of the tug, and he growled out a string of curse words, before thrusting his cock so angrily it was like a punishment, surely bruising your cervix, and releasing his thick load deep inside. His come flooded your cunt, pumping you full of his salty cream, fucking you still. 

Jackson then panted raggedly, feeling your gummy walls tense at the pain of him pulling out, flopping down beside you. “Does it hurt?” he asked you absently, pulling his boxer shorts back up to his hips. 

You bit your lip as you clenched your thighs together, whining slightly at the pain blooming deep within your abused cunt, and at the loss of pleasure— you hadn’t come after all, Jackson being entirely selfish in his fucking. “Uh-huh,” you murmured weakly, feeling the strength in your body leave you completely. “You’re a mean one, honey.”

“Good,” Jackson said, chuckling darkly. It was the first laugh you’d heard rumble out of him the entire time you’d held him captive, and you drank it in: it was pleasant and breezy, like cold water on a hot day. It was certainly out of place, such a gleeful laugh after savagely fucking you, but you welcomed it anyway. 

Jackson suddenly grabbed you by the waist, pulling you flush to his chest. “M’gonna use your hole whenever I want, and you’re gonna take my cock no matter what, ‘till you’re begging me to stop,” he growled in your ear, making goosebumps break out on your clammy skin. “Least you can do for fuckin’ kidnapping me, you psychotic bitch.”

“Oh,” you purred, batting your lashes up at him, “it’d be my pleasure to be your fucktoy.”

Jackson grinned, at you, for you, and you thought to yourself that kidnapping him was the best thing you ever fucking did. 

iii.

Somewhere, muddled between you kidnapping him, the two of you almost killing eachother, and him fucking you dumb, Jackson caved, and he started to believe he actually loved you. His mind didn’t have any qualms accepting that you were his new life— living in your house, only knowing you, and only ever talking to you. 

Maybe it was stockholm syndrome, or those delicious fantasies you’d whisper in his ear at night (“Y’know, honey, it’s really you who should be saying you’re home. What do you think, huh? You coming home from a long day of work to me, in my panties and an apron, no bra and a sweet, home-cooked meal on the table. Dessert’ll be, of course, me,”) or maybe it was just you.

You, despite your terrible job and seriously obvious insanity, being the epitome of fuckable: horny when he was, a talented, needy mouth, able to take anything he gave you to while always going back to being tight as fuck, and intensely eager to have him.

You, who controlled his life, and he, who controlled you. The way you treated each other was probably illegal somewhere, but in that house not even the fucking law mattered. (You still remember when Jackson got his gun back, and he teased your clit with the cold tip till you creamed down the barrel… a terribly memorable story that always made you groan.)

Jackson was extremely well aware that there was something strange about your relationship, and not just the fact it occurred in the strangest way possible, but that he was essentially giving up to you— losing his inhibitions, at least against you. Something about… putting his well being in your hands. His needs. His wants. His life. Spending the rest of his life with you; in this house, accepting life and no escape. 

But still, for a man like Jackson, who had long since accepted that he wasn’t cut out for a life of normalcy, a life of love, this certainly wasn’t a bad way of living. He had a house nicer than anything he’d ever lived in, didn’t have to work, could do whatever he wanted all day, and got to pound his cock into your perfect little pussy every single night. 

[monst]

Nightwing Hc's

Soft launch Dick Grayson Hcs I guess 🧍🏽

Can't cook well but is amazing at frying foods (Churros, Donuts, Funnel cakes, Chicken, Fries and corndogs), Grill master and all types of shakes anything else and the taste is kinda bland or ‘gets too in his head thinking about how he uses to ‘cook’ with his parents and burns it… 

Collects action figures 🤔 Started by collecting the toys from cereal boxes and will complain to anyone about how the quality of them has gone down. “We used to get stuff at least this big” Has really old batman figures that look like melted plastic. 

Never wears matching socks 🧦 And every other pair has a hole in it. He’s also one of those guys to have a specific wife beater that looks like it’s been through the great depression but he’ll never bin it. 

Is one of those people who still carries cash. 

Hyper competitive while playing board games/card games will definitely cheat to win. He will not try to throw any games for anyone's feelings. Only if you or the person he’s playing with is on the verge of tears..not. Is definitely the type to try to extract favors if he wins. Is a sore loser and refuses to play with Tim. 

Will respond to any call, text or even email as soon as he can. Like his phone is never on DND. (100% because of what happened with Jason.) While it’s a nice sentiment it can quickly become annoying to see him constantly looking at his phone when it so much as lights up. 

Probably plays Monopoly Go and is a high level lmao Idk He’s giving strong older millennial and my older brother is obsessed so, so it Dick. 

Imposter syndrome is strong with this one. 

This one’s a bit controversial but I think he might not want kids, most if not all the bats have probably gotten a vasectomy/gotten their tubes tied, after finding out about Damian. 

Contrary to popular belief he falls in love really slowly and it’s usually friends to lovers with him. This could be as neighbors, coworkers, doesn’t matter. If he sees you enough to be friends for a while he’ll probably catch feelings. 

I don't know who lied to you and told you that this man would confess immediately but no he's def pinning until he sees a sign or slips up and has to come clean (Maybe while drunk or hanging up a call with I love you, accidentally using a term of endearment if your hurt). Will probably keep them to himself if he thinks he’ll hinder you or put you in danger. 

It’s obvious to his close friends and family when he’s into someone. I think he glows when he's in love like he's normally gorgeous but he's stunning when he's in love, eyes brighter, smile wider, something about him more relaxed. 

I think his favorite thing about his partner would be their face. Catching all the small micro expressions is something he loves.

[calmcoldevening]

I’m begging you for a part 2 of the knowing the slashers when they were younger fic where they meet when they’re older if you’re up for it ofc🙏

You knew slashers when you were a child and now you grow up and met them

Characters: Thomas Hewitt, Brahms Heelshire, brothers Sinclair

TW: mention of blood, violence, stockholm syndrome.

Ps: english is not my native language, so sorry for misspells. And also i really didn't know what I needed to write about Sinclair, because i need to rewatch the movie to remember their characters, so i didn't write about them. I hope you'll enjoy our sweet Tommy and baby boy Brahms

Part one ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Thomas Hewitt

You just recently graduated from college and decided to celebrate it with a trip with your friends to one of the US states. The choice fell on Texas. You still had pleasant memories of your school life in this place in your heart, and your heart ached at the thought of how soon you left your hometown. Not that you would call these people friends, but you were good acquaintances and helped each other with tasks. And so you packed your bags and within half an hour you were all driving together in a small SUV. The boyfriend of one of your 'friends' (Jessica) was driving. He was a good man, although he joked about unpleasant topics from time to time. But you turned a blind eye to it. In the end, you will finally find yourself back in the good old Texas.

The road was long, so you had a lot of time to think. You were sitting in the farthest seat, staring into space and slowly stroking an old, slightly battered fox toy with your hand. Your thoughts revolved around one person. That shy little boy you had such a happy conversation with years ago. It was your first memorable friend. You no longer had friends who could surpass sweet Tommy.

Finally, the car turned at a sign with the inscription of a city you know. Your heart started beating faster and you couldn't suppress a smile in anticipation. Soon you will see him again, a sweet shy boy. Although now it will probably be a guy, after all, it's been almost twelve years. This figure was almost painful.

The Texas landscape flowed like a soft canvas on the other side of the window, the sun mercilessly burned his eyes, refracting through the glass. It was hot and stuffy. You're lucky to get into one of the hottest periods in Texas. This place has changed somewhat, although it remains the same as you remembered it. The once small plantings have now turned into real tall trees, although they did not save much from the sultry sun. The wheels of the car turned quickly on turns with an unpleasant sound, raising a cloud of dust behind them. Jessica's boyfriend, Tim, apparently loved playing racer very much, even on the main state road.

By all the laws of luck, Tim abruptly informed you that you were running out of gas. There was a gas station nearby. You entered a small diner next to the gas station, and your heart instantly warmed up. It was that sweet woman, Thomas's mom. Luda-May, isn't that right?

"Hello, Luda," you say with a slight smile, approaching the cash register. The woman looks up at you with a frown, peering at your appearance for a few seconds. Finally, recognition seemed to flash across her face.

"Y/N?" She asks dryly, her voice a little rougher than what you remember from childhood. You nod in response. A warm smile appears on Mrs. Hewitt's face and she hurries out from behind the counter, wrapping you in a gentle, almost maternal embrace. "God, girl.. I never thought I'd see you again. You've grown up so much."

"I'm so sorry that I left so quickly. It was my parents' idea, not mine."

"I understand, honey, don't worry. We've all missed you. Especially Tommy."

The mere mention of his name makes your heart ache. Tommy... You haven't seen him for so long. Your heart yearned for those beloved cornflower blue eyes. You reluctantly pull away from the cozy embrace of Luda, your hand reflexively reaches for your hair, removing a stray strand from your face when you understand the look at a woman.

"You still live there, don't you? Can I see him?"

"Of course, my girl. I've just finished. Hoyt should be arriving soon."

Hoyt? Your brain was carefully trying to find at least one mention of that name in your memory, but nothing came to mind. Strange. Although it may be one of their relatives or friends, after all, you haven't been here for too long, it couldn't have stayed the same, could it?

What was your surprise when that Hoyt turned out to be old Charlie. Although his appearance was now quite pretentious: sheriff's clothes, hat and badge. Something was wrong. This man has been lazy all his life, he could not suddenly decide to go to work in a place related to healthcare. But you chose to remain silent. Hoyt didn't seem to recognize you. When he saw your friends, he invited them to go with them, saying that he had a can of gasoline at home.

"Take the guys, and then you'll come for us. I don't think the sheriff's car can hold that many people," Luda intervened, grabbing your arm protectively. It's got you a little stressed out. Although there was some truth in her words. Five former students came with you, all of them obviously wouldn't have gotten into Charlie's car. The man wanted to say something, but gave up, nodding to the woman.

And so they left. All that time, Luda was asking about your life, enjoying listening to stories from college. She was more interested in this than your own parents. And now Hoyt is back. He was in high spirits. You got to the Hewitt house safely. As a child, as now, the building was still huge for you. Luda carefully led you into the kitchen, offering you tea. God, you've missed this place.

"Tommy! Come here, we have guests," Luda shouted and you heard hurried rustles and heavy footsteps from the basement.

It made you tense up a little bit. Finally, a couple of minutes later, a tall man, the size of an entire closet, entered the kitchen. Your blood turned cold. You slowly looked up. A long, tall body, wavy dark hair and a leather mask on his face. He frowns down at you, seeming to evaluate you with his cold blue eyes.

"Tommy?" As if nothing had happened, Luda-Mae asks in a cheerful voice, "Do you remember Y/N?"

It seemed that at that moment the gears were turning in his head. You needed time to think about it too. Was this huge man Thomas? No, of course, Tommy was a bit of a big kid as a kid, but he was still quite small. The only thing that attracted attention was his bandage on his face. Now it has been replaced by a strange leather mask.

You didn't even have time to think, as careful footsteps were heard from the basement. It seemed, but Tommy and none of the People were found at first. And Tim appeared behind Thomas. God, he was covered in blood and his back was bleeding. Your face is filled with pure horror. And that gave Tim away. Thomas notices your fear and turns around, immediately grabbing Tim roughly and dragging him back to the basement. Your brain screamed like a hunted animal that you needed to get out of here and urgently. Something has happened to this family, something bad, since they communicate with other people like that. But as soon as you tried to run to the exit, at that moment you were hit by something heavy on the back of the head.

His heart ached for you. You were the first person who ever showed him kindness in your life, and now you will surely be afraid of him. God, he wouldn't want to see fear in your beautiful eyes when you're afraid of him. His body was filled with an unpleasant feeling of disappointment and pain. He didn't want that, really. But he wanted to keep you by his side, he didn't want to let you go again. And he didn't want you to hurt the family. So now he was gently wiping the remnants of blood from your beautiful face, tucking stray strands of hair behind your ear. You were still as beautiful, his heart began to beat faster, as it did when he was a child. He saw that toy in your friends' car, you kept it all these years. Thomas couldn't help but smile. Maybe you loved him too? Not now, not after what he did.

The following days were a blur. Your head ached, and an unpleasant heaviness tightened your neck. They put you on a chain. Thomas or Luda would check on you from time to time, Luda would just leave food, and Thomas would just sit on the bed next to you and just look at you. Sometimes he would try to touch you, but you would instantly jump aside like a wounded animal. Thomas's heart ached painfully in his chest. Although.. He deserved it, didn't he? All his life he was looked at with disgust or fear. But he didn't care about those people. All these simple passers-by or victims were just empty meat. But you were afraid of him now. He couldn't stand your gaze, full of fear for your life, so he left the room every time, unable to look in your eyes.

The days slowly followed each other. You were still afraid. But there was something else. Whenever Thomas enters the room, your eyes involuntarily glided over his big strong body. You wanted to snuggle up to him, find comfort in his arms. But there was a part of you that knew it was wrong. They killed people, they killed your friends. They chained you up and kept you here like some kind of dog. And yet your body was begging for his warmth, just like when you were a child.

What was Thomas's surprise when the next time he came into the room, you crawled closer to him, asking for a hug. Your arms clumsily wrapped around his body. Thomas blushed instantly. His heart felt so good. He gently grabbed you by the hips, putting you on his lap, and hugging your fragile body with his strong arms. He buried his nose in your hair. How he missed that feeling. His brain was filled with the scent of your skin. Thomas let out a relieved whimper as you began to gently run your fingers through his tangled hair.

He never left you, he won't let you go into this cruel world again. He will protect you with all his heart. His sweet girl.

Brahms Heelshire

"Now I've won," the man says in a hoarse voice through his cracked porcelain mask with a doll's face.

He was breathing heavily, hanging over you, his left hand pressed against the wall behind you, while the other reached out to your face, gently stroking.

"Still beautiful," he whispers, caressing your chin with his thumb, tracing your lower lip with his fingernail. Your heart was pounding wildly, you shrank under the man's gaze like a frightened animal. His movements were rough, but his touch seemed almost gentle, as if he didn't want to disrupt this moment or harm your fragile being. His breathing was loud and heavy because of the mask, and the skin under his eyes was slightly reddened. And those eyes. Those warm eyes are the color of pure amber under the bright sun. They looked at you with extraordinary affection and humility. You could recognize those eyes out of a thousand. Like back then, fifteen years ago.

You nervously clutched the steering wheel rim with your right hand, counting the turns. Not so long ago, you managed to get a new job, and who would have thought that this job would be in your childhood home. Or rather, your friend. They always treated you like their own child, so they gave you this job without any problems.

The weather was clear, it was only the beginning of autumn. Some of the trees have already turned golden, their leaves rustling unobtrusively. The sky was clear, without a single cloud, so the sun shone brightly through the windshield of your car. It seemed that nothing could spoil your return to your childhood home.

Your heart was beating fast in your chest. The mind was filled with thousands of pleasant memories of your past together and children's laughter. You missed Brahms so much. It's been a long time since you've seen him.

Finally, after a couple of long hours, you arrived at the Hilsher estate. It remained the same. Obviously, Mr. Heelshire was still carefully tending the garden, growing his wife's favorite flowers. You stopped right next to the driveway, the wheels moving pleasantly on the gravel. After getting out of the car, you went inside without thinking twice. The greenery of this place has always been striking in its beauty, it seemed that no seasons had power over this place, the forests of the estate still gave pleasure with their emerald color and the coolness of the dense grove.

You were met at the very door by Mrs. Heelshire. She has changed a lot since your last visit, of course, the years take their toll. Her eyes were a little red and tired, and there were small bruises under them. Her face was unusually pale and her hair was gray, but not as when it happens from age, but when a person goes through a lot of life difficulties and faces stress.

"Honey, I haven't seen you for so long," the woman said smiling, wrapping you in a warm embrace. Her hugs were pleasant, but strangely nervous, "We were surprised when we received your candidacy for this job."

"I just really wanted to come back. My parents wouldn't let me go just like that."

"And for good reason," the woman mutters to herself, immediately turning to face you with a warm smile, "We always want only the best for you, my girl, don't hold a grudge against us."

Her words strain you a little, but you attribute it to her slight excitement before the long-awaited vacation. After all, for as long as you can remember, Mrs. Heelshire has always been a caring and hardworking woman, she didn't know the word 'rest'.

After ten tedious minutes, Mrs. Heelshire explains to you the set of rules and your responsibilities. It seemed like she was trying in a hurry to tell you everything at once. Her eyes were constantly darting around the walls of the house.

And now you're alone. Taking care of the doll was not so difficult. Although you still didn't understand why the doll had the name of your childhood best friend. No one's parents told you what happened to Brahms, you just moved in a couple of days before his birthday. You didn't even have time to give him the gift you made with your own hands. Years later, you felt guilty about it. But now, that feeling seemed to be gone. It feels like you're finally in your place. You're home.

It happened two weeks after your arrival at the manor. As usual, you were sorting out the groceries that Malcolm brought while the man was standing next to you, leaning against the doorjamb. He was watching you carefully, talking about something. To be honest, you've noticed for a long time how ambiguously he looks at you. All those jokes, compliments, touches and glances. He was flirting with you. But you could definitely tell that he wasn't your type. Damn it, he was overconfident. But in a relationship, you wanted to 'be at the helm', you wanted a guy with character, but definitely obedient. And Malcolm definitely didn't fit that description.

"..hey, can you leave this doll after all? Let's go to my place. I'll show you a lot of interesting things," he says with a sly grin, taking a few steps closer.

"The Heelshirs left me here for a reason, I don't want to undermine their trust."

"Come on, do you really want to spend the rest of your life in a house with just this doll?" The guy purrs, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his nose in your neck. You are annoyed by his behavior and you step on Malcolm's foot with force. He hisses and quickly pulls away. "Fuck, are you stupid?"

"Watch your mouth, boy."

Malcolm tenses up. He hears rapid rustling in the walls, his eyes darting around the room.

"The hell with you," he finally gives up. Malcolm grabs the empty boxes and leaves the house, slamming the door behind him. You're relieved. He seems to be a man, but he behaves like a scared boy.

"Y/N.. Did he hurt you?" A small child's voice comes from somewhere in the hallway. You flinch a little. You knew that voice. Brahms. True, his voice was a little different in childhood, now it was quieter and plaintive. You quickly close the refrigerator and slowly walk towards the source of the sound.

"Who's here? Brahms?"

It all happened too fast. At first, you were driven by interest with a little bit of fear. In an instant, you saw a tall, broad figure towering over you by a good two heads. You were scared. You ran away, hoping to hide from a stranger. And one day you were pinned against the wall by a muscular figure.

"Y/N, don't be afraid... I didn't mean to scare you." A child's voice mumbles plaintively. You look into those hazel eyes and your heart sinks.

"Brahms?" In response, the man only reaches out to your face, gently caressing your cheek.

"Now I've won." His voice changes. Instead of a child's voice, a low, hoarse voice now caresses your ears. You feel electricity running down your spine, you instinctively squeeze your hips.

Your hands reach for the porcelain mask, but Brahms abruptly pulls away. He shakes his head negatively. He didn't want you to see his face. He doesn't want you to be scared. He doesn't want you to leave him like the others.

"Come on, Brahms. You're a good boy. Didn't you love kissing?" You speak with a slight smile. A long-drawn-out whine comes from under the mask. He nods briefly. You lift the edge of the mask, covering his hot lips with your own. Brahms's movements are fast and assertive, he bites your lips, squeezing your waist in his hands. He missed you so much.

[starhvney]

𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐃𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐏 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: garroth, laurance, travis, dante, zane, katelyn, & nana

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: what i think they'd be like on a roadtrip!

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: fluff, slice of life

𝐂𝐖: none!

𝐀/𝐍: i miss going on roadtrips i haven't been on one in so long

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇

☆ calls shotgun immediately and insists it’s his spot for the rest of the trip (oldest sibling syndrome)

☆ always buys something at every rest stop, whether it’s an icee, chips, or some stupid trinket

☆ bought a key chain one time that flashed the words “bad boy” on it because he thought it was so funny. he was devastated when it stopped working one day

☆ likes being the gps guy because sometimes he’ll find a cool place to stop and check out on the way (to make the most of the trip, of course)

☆ talks about town lore when you pass through somewhere interesting

𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄

☆ he has the best road trip playlist and made sure to plan out how long it was depending on how far you’re traveling

☆ honestly he’s probably the one driving for most of the trip if not all of it, he finds driving relaxing and also doesn’t trust other people to drive safely

☆ likes to play fun talking games like never have i ever or would you rather, or just talking about life

☆ will play the license plate game or i spy to stay alert

☆ if he’s not talking he’s really enjoying the playlist

☆ if the road trip is super long he’ll agree to switch out of driving for a bit to take a nap

𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐒

☆ is really invested in the license plate game

☆ he’s always cracking jokes and is definitely the type of guy to look in other people’s windows on the road and guess their life story

☆ gets invested when a car sticks with yours for a long time and gets dramatic when they finally split away

☆ plays multiplayer games on his phone with whoever wants to play or sends memes to the group chat (you guys are literally in the same car)

☆ will suddenly start discussing conspiracy theories or will tell ghost stories about the towns you pass through

𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄 

☆ he’s either talking the whole time or passed tf out no in between

☆ says “i could go for some fast fast food right now” literally anytime you guys pass a fast food restaurant

☆ also cracks jokes and will add on to travis’s guesses on the lives of oblivious travelers

☆ makes really exaggerated and out of place guesses because he thinks it’s funny

☆ it’ll be a grandma driving in her old chrysler and he goes “how much you wanna bet she’s got a pound of weed in her trunk”

☆ like man what the hell are you talking about

𝐙𝐀𝐍𝐄

☆ irritated if people are talking too much (dante and travis)

☆ puts on noise canceling headphones and only tunes back in if food or a rest stop is involved (he’s busy listening to my little pony infection au lore/j)

☆ has a pillow, blanket, and hoodie on at all times for maximum comfort

☆ another sleeper. surprisingly doesn’t mind if you use him as a pillow or ask to share his blanket, he’s really comfy with all those layers on

☆ will lightly shove you away if you start moving too much, though

𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐘𝐍

☆ pretty chill the whole time as usual

☆ sits in the very back and mostly will watch the scenery

☆ she brings a book or watches a movie, and doesn’t mind sharing her headphones with you to watch it together 

☆ unless you’re traveling in a car with tv screens installed, then she has a small travel case with a ton of burned cds (if you know you know) and everyone can join in

☆ if she gets tired of socializing with everyone she puts in some earbuds and takes a nap

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀

☆ packs a whole bag of snacks and homemade sweets for everyone

☆ checks pretty often if anyone wants to take a break at a rest stop and stretch their legs (she’s pretty jittery and doesn’t want to be the only one constantly asking to stop the car)

☆ also participates in the license plate game, but also likes to play the slug bug and yellow car game

☆ made the mistake of slug bugging katelyn and got punched back in the arm

☆ gets really addicted to cute cat games on her phone and accidentally spends a bunch of money on passes

☆ she brings some sort of craft or sketchbook for the trip. you notice she’s been quiet for a while before looking over and seeing she’s already crocheted half of a scarf and a hat

©starhvney, 2024. please do not steal or repost my works as your own.

[maespri]

your turn to die characters ranked by how painful their death was (and why)

okay. crazy title, i KNOW. but this was actually so interesting to talk and think about. at least for me.

spoilers ahead, and TRIGGER WARNING. this post is going to go into detail about each death. it’s going to get gory and upsetting. if you don’t think you can handle hearing about that, please keep scrolling!

everything is under the cut, because this post is LONG, i'm warning you now.

some backstory: i have a special interest in anatomy and physiology, and i've always thought about how the different deaths in your turn to die worked. my wonderful friend @lovivelle and i talked about this topic extensively last night and they made this tier list with me! so, here's the ranking and explanations!

this ranking ONLY covers HUMAN deaths, because dolls/dummies do not feel pain.

quick glossary: exsanguination: death caused by bleeding out hemorrhaging: bleeding necrosis: cell/tissue death hypoxia: inadequate oxygen supply hypovolemic: loss of fluid in the body, often referring to blood or water shock: life-threatening condition where the body does not have enough blood circulating through it crush syndrome: medical condition where skeletal muscle is crushed for a prolonged time, resulting in shock and organ failure hematemesis: vomiting up blood hemoptysis: coughing up blood TBI: traumatic brain injury immolation: death by burning; being burned alive

the tier list:

OUCH!! (most painful):

nao: nao's death involves her ribcage being crushed. i put her at number one for what i hope are obvious reasons. for starters, her death is drawn-out, making the pain last even longer. while her ribcage is being crushed, any internal organs are being crushed as well. her bones are probably splintering and breaking off and piercing her insides and organs. overall... just horrible pain. official cause of death: internal hemorrhaging and irreparable damage to organs.

kurumada: kurumada's death involved being crushed (between two walls), which is similar to nao's. i would put their pain levels as being equal to each other, but kurumada's has the potential to have been less painful than nao's, because we don't know how quickly the walls crushed his body. if they were moving slowly, the pain would've been drawn-out and agonizing, and in that case, i would make the argument that his death was more painful than nao's. but if it was very quick, he would've just felt blinding pain in his entire body for a few seconds before it would end. we do have to keep in mind that kurumada is clearly quite muscular however, which probably provided some resistance against the walls, but only served to draw out his pain even further. official cause of death: muscle necrosis, internal hemorrhaging, and irreparable damage to internal organs due to crush syndrome.

either way, both definitely experienced, in my opinion, the most painful deaths in the game.

YOWZA! (very painful):

mishima: mishima's death results from his collar slowly heating up and burning his neck until his head disconnects from it. i don't even have the words to describe how painful this would be. the fact that the collar heats up slowly and it is drawn out only makes it worse. if you've ever burned yourself before anywhere on your body, you know how painful it is. imagine that pain centralized around your neck. mishima might have the fortune of his nerves being burned off after a certain amount of time, which would mean he wouldn't feel anything (think third-degree burns burning through to muscle, tissue, and nerve endings). but at that point, because the burning is around his neck and your neck contains- A) your spine/spinal cord and B) your trachea, which allows you to breathe- anyway and burning it in half would definitely kill you, he may be dead before he even has time to not feel any pain. either way, this shit would hurt so bad. official cause of death: cerebral hypoxia due to decapitation.

hinako: hinako technically has two deaths, but we ranked her based off of her being drilled. a lot of questions actually arose when my friend and i were talking about the drill deaths, because we don't know the speed at which the drills move. i mean, whether they're moving quickly or slowly, it would still obviously hurt- but the faster the drill, the quicker the death, which would make it less painful. being drilled would be unbearably painful for the sole fact that she might be alive for a lot of the drilling until it reaches any vital organs. no matter what, it'd be very painful. official cause of death: hard to say for certain, but would most likely be from exsanguination... y'know, from her body being split in half by a giant drill.

kugie (kanna's sister): my friend and i were FLOORED when we looked into kugie's death. in the game, i don't think we get a canonical answer specifically as to how she dies, but in the manga, we do. kugie and kanna have the same first trial as joe and sara, but they don't succeed. in it, kugie's bed literally snaps and essentially folds her in half. in the image from the manga, we can see blood flying out from the bed (implying it happened very quickly, because if it were slow, the blood would instead drip and flow), and kugie's hand sticking out between the two slabs of the bed. i think this death is the most painful out of the entire "YOWZA!" category because kugie was probably alive and in immense pain for at least a few seconds or even minutes after the bed snapped. if i had to speculate official cause(s) of death:

i would guess her lumbar vertebrae (basically the bottom discs of the spine) and spinal cord snapped, cutting off sensation and sending her into shock.

if she was folded in half, her legs would have quickly shot up, meaning her torso was likely unnaturally slammed into by both them and the bed, and sustained massive trauma. this would cause internal hemorrhaging and damage to her organs.

the blood spurting out of the bed was likely from her head. i'm a teenage girl, likely the same height or around the same height as kugie, and when i bend in half, my face is level with my knees. knowing this, her knees probably slammed into her face and broke her skull, causing a TBI.

the combination of all of that would have first caused terrible pain for, like i said, at least a few seconds or minutes- we don't see how extensive the damage really was, so i can't say for certain... but yeah.

aughhh (painful):

joe: joe's death is really interesting to think about, because upon first glance, you might think it's one of the most painful- but there are a few things i considered with him. his death is a result of wrigglers draining the blood out of his body. because we don't know how large the wrigglers are, i can't say how painful it would be when they enter his body- but i'd have to guess they're on the smaller side, like little tubes, because if they were big, they would have difficulty sucking out his blood due to how small blood vessels are. it would hurt horribly to have the wrigglers enter his body and drain the blood. we don't know if they moved around through his blood vessels- if they did, that would definitely exacerbate the pain- or if it was more just like getting blood drawn. but what i considered with him, the thing that makes his death less painful than the others, is the fact that he would probably pass out long before he's even fully dead. the amount of blood he's losing at such a rapid pace would first make him dizzy and disoriented before he just... passes out. his entire body would start shutting down very quickly and he wouldn't even be awake for it. his body would give up on transporting blood to the extremities and non-vital organs and shift only to transporting what little blood it can to keep vital organs running. when that blood runs out, the heart will stop being able to pump enough blood throughout the body and to the brain, and joe would actually be dead. so... yeah. official cause of death: hypovolemic shock resulting in organ failure.

shin: shin dies after being fatally injured by the death game's security system. while it's unclear exactly how the security system killed him, i believe he was stabbed/impaled somehow. there are a few questions regarding exactly where he was stabbed, but i assume he was hit somewhere in the torso because he has blood coming out of his mouth. if you don't know:

blood coming out of the mouth can be a result of haematemesis (vomiting up blood), which is where blood wells up in the stomach/digestive tract due to trauma in that area

it can also be a result of haemoptosis (coughing up blood), which results from being stabbed in the lungs/trachea due to trauma in that area

my guess is he was stabbed in the stomach, because if he were stabbed in the lungs, he'd be coughing and frothing at the mouth struggling to breathe. if i'm remembering correctly, he's also shown to be clutching his abdomen after turning on the joe AI, so... my money is definitely in the stomach.

which, you guessed it, would hurt. a lot. and there's no workaround. he's strong enough to drag himself to the rubble room and turn on an AI before dying. he would've been in blinding pain that entire time before dying.

official cause of death: exsanguination.

reko: reko technically has three canonical deaths, which made her hard to rank. i'll cover them all.

strangulation (hanging by collar): being hung is painful, but i think people underestimate how terrifying it is too. reko would have been terrified and in immense pain for a few minutes before dying. everything in her neck would be getting crushed and pressed on by the collar thanks to gravity. overall... awful death. official cause of death: cerebral hypoxia due to strangulation.

stabbed: same as what i said for shin. terrible pain for however long until she ultimately bleeds out. official cause of death: exsanguination.

fake-reko falling headfirst onto a spike: this one's... interesting! mainly because i think she would actually just be dead instantly. if the spike pierces her brain, she won't even really have time to process "ow!" before just. being dead. official cause of death: severe TBI resulting in death.

owie (painful, but not as painful as others):

q-taro: q-taro is stabbed in the back by mai and slowly bleeds to death over the course of the chapter. the reason i put him so low is because he would definitely be in some pain, but i don't think mai stabbed him very well (no offense girl). he's able to walk around, talk, and do stuff with the others after being stabbed, at least for a little while. it's difficult for me to pinpoint what exactly killed him because of this. i'd imagine his body began repairing the stab wound in his back, but ultimately, blood loss and the disruption to everything surrounding his spine (because mai stabs him in the back) is probably what killed him. depending on how deep mai's knife was, the blade may have even pierced or grazed internal organs such as q-taro's heart or a lung. his body probably put most of its focus on keeping his internal organs running whilst simultaneously trying to repair them, which tired him out over the course of the chapter, before it ultimately couldn't keep up with the amount of blood being lost. a hasty bandaging job using an office first-aid kit is not ideal for stab wounds.

*edit: this person corrected me regarding q-taro's death! i still think the severity of his injury could have killed him before the coffin cremation system actually killed him, plus the information is interesting, so i'm keeping it. but technically, being burned alive is actually what killed him. ouch.

official cause of death: exsanguination OR immolation.

kai: kai's death is kind of up in the air in terms of the specifics, but we know he kills himself during the first main game by cutting his arms. in order for this to kill him, and for him to have bled out as fast as he did, he likely cut his axillary and/or brachial artery. your brachial artery runs down the front of your bicep and is an extension of your axillary artery, which is in your upper arm/armpit. if kai cut deeply into both his brachial arteries, and/or his axillary arteries, he would bleed to death very quickly. it would be really painful, but i think adrenaline and the probability he'd pass out immediately would certainly be on his side here, making it at least a little less painful. either way, he dies quite fast, so. official cause of death: exsanguination.

uncertain (i'm not sure!):

this category is for the characters who have one or more variables that make it difficult or impossible to determine how painful their death was.

kanna: first of all, the way kanna dies is impossible in real life. lets just get that out of the way. you cannot have flowers sprout out of your body. that immediately makes it impossible to tell how painful it would be for her.

if i were to suspend my disbelief for this, however, here's what i have to say about it:

safalin says kanna is numb during her death, which would instantly give her a pain rating of zero. kanna is screaming during her death, but given what safalin says, that doesn't necessarily prove she's in pain. she could just be screaming out of fear.

if she weren't numb, yeah, she would be in a lot of pain. flowers and vines growing out of your body, poking out of your skin, running through your insides- that would hurt insanely bad.

but the fact that:

this death isn't possible in real life

kanna is presumably numb during her death

we don't specifically know how the seeds are working/moving inside her body

kind of made it impossible to rank her.

if i had to guess a cause of death, i'd guess severe disruption by the vines to her internal organs and processes is what ultimately killed her.

hayasaka: hayasaka's head is presumably cut off by a swinging axe. there are two reasons we put him in 'uncertain'; we don't know how sharp the blade of the axe is, and we don't know the velocity it's swinging at.

if the blade is swinging slowly and is very dull, it would take a few swings to fully cut off hayasaka's head, which would make it incredibly painful.

but if the blade is swinging very quickly and is super sharp, his death would be instantaneous, making it essentially painless.

so it's difficult to say, but either way:

official cause of death: decapitation.

ranmaru: ranmaru's death is in 'uncertain' because we

don't know exactly how that happened to his stomach

hear him talk about how he's numb to it

don't know how long he's been sitting there

i imagine he was in some pain and just putting up a front, but we just don't know for sure. and like i just said, we don't know what specifically killed him or how. we just see a wound in his stomach.

probable cause of death: exsanguination/hemorrhaging.

anzu: anzu's was between 'uncertain' and 'so quick.' we see spikes piercing her body, but the angle makes it difficult to tell exactly where they pierce, or how sharp they are, etc. if the spikes didn't hit her face/brain, she probably felt intense pain for some time from the neck-down before rapidly bleeding to death. if the spikes got her head, she'd die instantly. so.

probable cause of death: exsanguination? TBI? damage to internal organs/processes?

ranger: according to ranger's wiki, his human form was stabbed by an assassin. not nearly enough information to rank him with certainty.

cause of death: stabbed?

so quick (too fast to be painful):

both mai and alice's deaths were so fast, they fell into this category.

mai: mai shoots herself in the head. her death would have been immediate and painless since she shot herself in the brain.

official cause of death: fatal TBI.

alice: alice's abdomen explodes. if that happens, you're probably going to feel a very brief flash of pain before immediately dying, because the damage would be so extensive (shrapnel exploded his stomach, but there was undoubtedly collateral damage to his heart, lungs, and other organs around there). he would have been in shock if he did somehow manage to survive for a few more seconds. pain would be minimal or nonexistent in my opinion due to the sheer severity of the injury. and in terms of him being hung in chapter 3, it's the same as reko.

official cause of death: shock resulting from traumatic abdominal injury.

thats it!

if you for god knows what reason read all this, thank you! i'm honestly only posting it kind of for myself and my friend to look back on if i ever want to think about it again, but maybe someone will find it interesting.

questions, comments, concerns (of which i'm sure there are many)- i'm an open book. i'm not a professional by any means, but i am insane. bye!

[randomdragonfires]

If The Sun Ever Rises | Chapter 3

Chapter 3 | Live To See Another Day

SUMMARY | After narrowly escaping the Battle Above God’s Eye, Prince Aemond is now a hidden fugitive within the very kingdom he once ruled. Driven by vengeance, he plans to usurp Aegon III and avenge his family. His rage-blinded path to the throne begins with getting rid of Cregan Stark and the men who support his nephew’s rule. Having nothing to lose, he recklessly kidnaps the Northerner’s betrothed - his own niece - hoping to lure him and his men out to fight.

Soon, Aemond finds that memories of a first love are strong, and that he cannot steel his heart against the woman he has loved all his life.

WARNINGS | 18+; Smut; Canon Divergence - Aemond lives (but barely); Violence; Stockholm Syndrome; Mental and Physical Trauma; Angst; Canon Incest; Manipulation; No Happy Endings In This House YAY; Slow burn, I think.

WORD COUNT | 2.2k

Text Divider by @saradika

In the heart of the dense forest, she sprinted, her breath ragged and panicked, each footfall a desperate attempt to outrun the shadows that seemed to stretch and grasp at her heels. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and the tang of decaying leaves. The smell filled her senses as she darted between the towering trees. Branches reached out, snagging at her dress and tearing the delicate fabric as she pushed forward, driven by a primal instinct to escape him.

She needed to run. No matter how tiring it felt, she had to run. This was her chance to survive, and survive she would. She could save Cregan and Aegon if she escaped the jungle and warned them. She didn’t know where in Westeros she’d been brought to, nor did she think clearly about how she would make passage back to the Keep. Was Cregan out looking for her? If yes, then she’d have to find him. But how?

No answers. All she knew is that she had to escape Aemond and live to tell the tale. It was this singular goal that kept her running despite the pain.

A glimmer of moonlight danced upon the surface of a small pond, its still waters reflecting the shimmering canopy above. For a fleeting moment, she paused, her breath catching in her throat as she drank in the tranquil scene before her. But the illusion of peace was shattered by the distant echo of pursuit, a reminder that Aemond would have noticed her absence from the cave by now - he was probably out on the prowl like a predator in the night, looking for her.

He’d always been a light sleeper, she knew. Ever since his eye was taken out, Aemond had had trouble resting without panic. He seemed to be at peace when they laid together after he’d had his way with her in better days, but even then, he’d always move at the slightest of sounds - always ready for someone to walk in. 

She’d risked running regardless. If she’s made it this far, then she surmised that the Gods were working in her favor. With a shiver of apprehension, she tore her gaze away from the pond and pressed on, her feet pounding against the forest floor in a frantic rhythm. Every step was a battle against exhaustion, her muscles burning with exertion as she pushed herself to her limits.

A low-hanging branch loomed before her, its twisted form a cruel obstacle in her path. With a gasp, she ducked beneath it, the rough bark scraping against her skin as she fought to maintain her momentum. But her efforts were in vain, and she stumbled, her foot catching on a root hidden beneath the undergrowth.

With a cry of pain, she tumbled forward, wet forest floor rushing up to meet her with a bone-jarring impact. Dirt and leaves clung to her skin as she lay there, dazed and disoriented, the world spinning around her in a dizzying blur.

“Mandianna! Come out, wherever you are!” The urgent call of her name sliced through the oppressive silence of the forest, sending a shiver down her spine. Aemond's voice, laced with determination and perhaps a hint of frustration, echoed through the trees, drawing ever closer with each passing moment. With a surge of fear, she forced her weary limbs into motion once more, her heart hammering in her chest as she pushed herself to run faster, harder, desperate to avoid being taken back.

A sudden rustling in the underbrush brought her to a halt, her heart pounding in her chest as she scanned the darkness for signs of movement. And then she saw it – a boar, with a pair of gleaming eyes peering out from the shadows, its gaze fixed upon her with a predatory intensity.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still as they locked eyes, predator and prey poised on the brink of confrontation. With a surge of terror, she turned to flee, but it was too late. The massive boar burst forth, its wild eyes fixed upon her with a hunger that sent a shiver of fear coursing through her veins. She stumbled backward, her heart pounding in her chest as she watched the beast charge toward her with relentless determination.

Her legs burned with exertion as she pushed herself to run faster, but the boar was gaining ground with every thunderous stride. Panic surged within her as she realized that escape was futile, that she was about to die.

And then, with a sickening thud, it collided with her, its massive weight crashing into her with bone-crushing force. She cried out in pain as she was knocked to the ground, the impact driving the breath from her lungs and sending waves of agony coursing through her battered body.

The boar loomed over her, its hot breath washing over her face as it prepared to deliver the killing blow. She closed her eyes, bracing herself for the inevitable, when suddenly, a flash of steel cut through the darkness.

With a roar of defiance, Aemond leaped forward, his shortsword flashing in the moonlight as he drove the blade deep into the boar's side. The beast squealed in pain, its massive form recoiling as Aemond fought to keep it at bay.

With a desperate cry, she scrambled to her feet, her hands shaking as she searched for something, anything to defend herself. And then, with a surge of determination, she snatched up a fallen branch, brandishing it like a weapon as she moved to join the fray.

Together, they fought with a fierce intensity, their blows raining down upon the boar with relentless fury. With each strike, they drove the beast back, inch by inch, until finally, with a final, guttural snarl, it collapsed to the ground, lifeless eyes staring blankly into the darkness its lifeless body twitched.

Gasping for breath, she sank to her knees, her body trembling with a mixture of fear and relief. And as she looked up at Aemond, standing before her with his bloodied blade in hand, she knew that she owed him her life, that he had risked his own save her from the jaws of death.

The high of the encounter with the boar began to ebb away, and she found herself overwhelmed. Every muscle in her body quivered w.ith the aftermath of fear, and she struggled to contain the tremors that wracked her frame. Her sobs and fear-of-death induced screams carried through the air around her as she filled the forest with her wails.

Wordlessly, Aemond approached her with a bloodied face and body, his expression unreadable as he reached out a hand to help her to her feet. She expected anger, reproach, perhaps even threats for her foolish attempt to escape, but to her surprise, there was none of that. Instead, there was only a quiet determination in his eyes - if she didn’t know better, she’d have said that he was trying to make her feel safe.

Why did he save her?

With a hesitant nod, she allowed him to lead her back through the forest, her steps faltering as she leaned heavily on his support. They went with her blood red-stained hands around him, his arm around her waist leading the way. Every rustle of leaves, every snapping twig sent a jolt of pain coursing through her, but she forced herself to press on, to trust in the silent strength of her abductor, whom she now owed her life to. His expression remained stoic, his gaze fixed firmly on the path ahead as though nothing had happened.

It was only when they finally reached the safety of their makeshift camp that she allowed herself to sink into the comfort he provided. Without a word, he set about tending to her injuries, his touch gentle and reassuring as he cleaned the cuts and bruises that marred her skin. Her body still tender from the recent ordeal, the dampness of the cave seeped into her threadbare clothes, adding to the chill that pervaded her bones. The scent of earth and moss mingled with the faint aroma of the herbs Aemond had used to dress her wounds, creating a heady concoction that filled the air around her.

Every movement sent jolts of pain shooting through her. Despite the life-threatening encounter, she could not help the tinge of red on her face when he held her cheek to treat her forehead scrape. She continued to blush as he touched her arms, her hands, her calves, and pushed her dress up by just a little to work on her thigh. It was pathetic, but the Gods played cruel games - wherever his touch went, her simple little heart seemed to follow.

He brought her here, and he took care of her. He’d treated her wounds, fed her, given her her time to heal - but why? If he was coming for every person that she loved, why was he being patient with her? Everything perplexed her, gnawing at the edges of her consciousness like a persistent itch she couldn't scratch. His lack of anger at her failed escape attempt fazed her to no end, and she waited for him to lash out at any given second. 

“What are you going to do with me?”

He smirked, and it was all she could do to keep herself from slapping it off of his face. He wordlessly looked up at her, sapphire gleaming in the streaks of sunlight seeping through the walls. 

“You want to kill my brother. You want to kill my intended. You want to take the throne. You’ve abducted me from Winterfell to draw them out… but what will you do to me, if Gods forbid, your scheming bears fruit? If you win and become King, will you make an example out of me?”

He continued to treat her injuries, seemingly not taking into consideration any of her words. It was like speaking to a wall - she could see the thoughts in his mind running rampant, with him making calculated moves as to what to tell her and what to not. It reminded her of back when he’d hold her - fingers dancing over the skin of her back as she mumbled in her sleep-addled state. His responses would always be well thought out and slow - the mysteriousness of it all had endeared her back then, but it frustrated her to have it work against her now.

When he finished, he stood and took a few steps back. His questioning gaze fell to her as she looked at him too, but no answer came. As she watched Aemond gather firewood and set up a bonfire outside the cave, the cold air around her seemed to seep deeper into her bones. Memories of the boar's attack haunted her, intensifying the pain that already gnawed at her battered body. She hugged her knees tightly, trying to steady herself against all odds.

She said nothing as silent tears streamed down her cheeks, her sobs echoing softly in the cavernous darkness. Aemond didn't look her way once as he worked, his movements precise and methodical, seemingly oblivious to the turmoil that raged within her. She watched him move about with a silent efficiency that spoke volumes of his familiarity with the surroundings - something she now knew she did not have. His tall, lean figure moved with a grace that belied the strength beneath his skin, his every action deliberate and purposeful. Despite the circumstances, she couldn't deny the allure he held. Despite her better judgment, she found herself looking at the lean muscle of his arms through his bloodied undershirt.

When the fire roared to life, casting flickering shadows across the cave walls, she felt a sense of warmth wash over her. With trembling limbs, she rose from her spot and stepped outside, taking a seat near the fire as she contemplated her situation. She looked around for Aemond, and found that he had walked into the water of the river to clean himself up. She knew that she should too, but she was too tired and scared of the possible sting of her injuries in the water to bother.

She couldn't escape him, not now, not in her weakened state, not ever. The forest was vast and unforgiving, and she was ill-equipped to navigate its treacherous depths alone. With a heavy heart, she made peace with her current situation and lowered herself sideways onto the forest floor, her gaze fixed on the dancing flames before her. As she lay there, lost in her thoughts, she felt Aemond's presence approach. She didn't meet his eyes as he crouched down beside her, his sigh heavy with emotions that she could not name. His mismatched eyes held secrets she longed to unravel, but she knew better than to trust in the illusion of safety they offered.

What will you do to me?

"I will not hurt you," he said quietly, his words hanging in the air like a fragile promise.

The weight of his declaration settled over her like a heavy blanket, comforting yet suffocating in its implications. She couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze, her mind consumed by visions of the boar's eyes and the fear that still lingered.

In the flickering light of the fire, she fell into a tired, fitful sleep, her dreams haunted by shadows, whispers, and the faint echo of Aemond's solemn vow. As darkness swallowed her whole, she clung to the flickering light of hope that burned within her, a beacon in the midst of the storm.

I will not hurt you.

I will not hurt you.

I will not hurt you.

Next Chapter

A/N: I've been excited about writing this chapter for so long. It wrote itself REALLY, REALLY QUICK!

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[jolenes-doppelganger]

Shooting the Messenger

Reverend Mother Jessica Atreides x Fem!Harkonnen Reader

Summary: Following the Battle of Arrakeen, House Harkonnen remains decimated. With Baron Harkonnen’s corpse slowly rotting in the sand and Feyd Rautha thrown amidst a pile of burning bodies, Reader is left with no choice but to hide amidst the rubble of the city in the hope of eventually escaping before being killed. Unfortunately, the bastard child of Emmi Harkonnen finds herself cornered, incapable of escaping from the clutches of the still surviving Atreides clan. (Emmi Harkonnen is the wife of Abulurd Harkonnen, brother to the Baron Harkonnen- NO INCEST!!!!).

Warnings: Dark circumstances (war, murder, death), complimentary Stockholm/Lima syndromes dynamic, grey-morality, abuse of power (Jessica), spitting

A/N: I’ve leaned more into the circumstances of the Dune books, specifically with Alia being born before the Battle of Arrakeen. If pregnant women are your thing, good for you, but I’m not into pursuing a relationship with a woman pregnant with a psychic, talking baby that observes everything going on from inside the womb. (Authored with inspiration and council from @ilovehotactresses- Here ya go buddy). This is all worldbuilding, no sexy times, I apologize. I legit cannot comprehend this woman fucking someone just 'cause she can. More sexy times later, I promise, promise, promise!!

Word Count: 3.3k

House Harkonnen had fallen. Baron Harkonnen was dead. Feyd Rautha, his successor, laid upon a pile of Sardaukar and Harkonnen soldiers, slowly being burned by flames on the sands of the fallen city. You had lost track of Beast Rabban, your oldest half-brother. It mattered not, you hated both of your half-brothers, the dead Feyd Rautha most especially. But regardless of resentment and old wounds, you were left without protection. Finding a dark, well hidden corner of the fallen city was difficult. But you did. Panting, in between collapsing from exertion and crying out of fear, you'd found a corner. Making yourself as small as possible, you covered your ears and froze.

"Reverend Mother, you cannot go into this sector! It is not secured!" a voice echoed down the halls.

"I don't have another option. Alia has spoken to me of her. I must find this remaining vestibule of the Harkonnen throne, the one that remains, the living heir." a voice rasped.

Silence. The room fell silent, and the footsteps disappeared. It must have been an illusion of some sort, a trick of the senses. Those voices and footfalls had been near, therefore the woman who spoke should have been near.

"There you are. Rise."

A force greater than you pulled you up, causing you to put pressure on your lacerated, probably fractured leg. You cried out in pain, but you remained standing.

"Nevermind. Kneel."

You kneeled, the force of your knees on the stone caused white hot pain to flash up your body. Hands cupped your face, pushing back the veil that hid your hair.

"Ahh, so you're half-Harkonnen? The rumours are true.. You're Emmi Harkonnen's bastard, her little mistake." the woman cooed, stroking over the hair repeatedly. "Precious, so precious. You'd make a poor heir. But we have to ensure that, don't we?"

You could only wheeze, looking up at the veiled woman in spite and fear.

"Oh, if you've heard the rumors, you've most certainly heard of my rumored fathers." you managed.

Reverend Mother Jessica drew closer.

"No, I most certainly haven't."

Glaring up at her intentionally, you smirked in recognition of the advantage you had.

"I was supposedly conceived during an Imperial caucus, the product of an affair. But I've heard the whispers. I may have been the product of none other than your deceased Duke Leto."

The slap that landed across your cheeks was resonant, and humiliating. No matter how much pride one has, slaps can never be any less humiliating than nature intends them to be. Tears collect in your eyes from the force, and you're knocked backwards, or to the side, depending on the direction of the slap.

"You will not speak of such things." Mother Jessica seethed.

"It doesn't matter if I was his bastard. This was several years before he met you."

Her hands encircled your throat, and you were met with the steely blue eyes of the Reverend Mother in the flesh.

"Shut your mouth. I have one purpose for you, and if you do not fulfill it, you will find how little life has left to offer you."

"-I'm a bastard child, there was never-"

"Sleep."

Jessica could only look with a mix of relief and victory as the Harkonnen slumped forward, pushed into a dream-like state by her command of the Voice. This child was a fighter, she knew it to be true. But she hadn't slapped the young woman out of spite, or fear, rather it had been merely annoying to suggest she was the Duke's child. Jessica knew her deceased concubine well, she knew that if he had made such a mistake as sleeping with the wife of a royal Harkonnen it would have come out before his death, most certainly under the pressure of the move to Arrakis. Not to mention the child in front of her did not look like her duke. She'd know his features anywhere; they were burned into her soul.

"Pesky, belligerent. More Harkonnen than I'd like to admit." Jessica muttered to herself. "Pick her up and have her treated for her wounds. She is useful, for the time being."

The Sayyadina that surrounded her nodded, and a Fremen soldier appeared, hauling the war-worn woman up, towards a medical unit. Jessica knew that her injuries would not be attended to at all if she did not press the matter, so she ensured that the girl was brought into her chambers, that her Sayyadina would oversee the matter to fruition. In the meantime, she had the council of her child Alia to attend to.

"It is done?" the toddler asked, voice uncharacteristically adult, in a tiny little body of a girl.

"Yes, the Harkonnen bastard will be attended to." Jessica murmured.

Her daughter came forward, crawling into her mother's lap. Regardless of her mental age, the body begged for connection from her mother, the soul too.

"She is more than just a bastard, she could be very useful to Paul's cause." Alia mused, childish voice still containing a hint of a lisp.

Jessica hummed, stroking the blonde curls that were springing from her daughter's scalp.

"How do I manipulate her to our needs?"

Alia furrowed her brow, thinking carefully. It seemed the little girl blessed with such mental and psychic foresight was momentarily at a loss for words, carefully considering her next proposal.

"She is like her brother. She has wounds, desires, all of which are accessed through physicality, through sexual manipulation." the girl spoke.

Jessica looked at her daughter carefully.

"So, I bed her?"

Alia shook her head.

"Seduction comes in many ways. If it pleases you to engage with her like that..." but Alia did not finish the thought. "It is not necessary to go all the way."

Jessica hummed, returning to petting her daughters curls. Upon inspection, they were covered in dirt and sand. It was natural for the Caladan born woman to immediately think of baths, but on Arrakis no such luxury could exist. Her daughter was of the desert, conceived upon Arrakis, of this Jessica was sure. Secondly was the matter of her daughter's strange connection to the sands. Alia smelled of the desert, an eerie quality Jessica could not explain. Truth be told, the warrior-child scared her. The mere toddler, the small body that contained such irreputable wisdom and violence, it was a body that should have glowed with innocence, of mindless naivety.

"Mother, of what do you think?" Alia asked, seemingly sensing the dark, contemplative nature of her mother.

"Of matters that you need not concern yourself with, my daughter." Jessica answered curtly. "... I have but one request. Stop wielding those knives. Your mind is old, but your body is young.."

"-I will be fine." Alia shrugged, hopping off of her mother's lap, walking away.

Watching her daughter display such independence was exhaustingly emotional. Jessica felt the tell-tale sign of her eyes burning, and the willpower it took to restrain the tears that begged to fall was more exhausting than just allowing her body to release a few drops of water. Walking away, Jessica moved towards the body that lay prone some distance aways. Jessica yearned for something to care for, something that needed her, someone that would be loyal, and innocent in the nature of the world in ways that her children could not be. Jessica wanted something to call hers, and hers alone.

<------------->

Glowing light burned through the windows of the conquered city of Arrakis. Smoke wafted through the main palace, the smell tinged with burning hair and flesh. It was grotesque, the smell unforgettable. It reeked of murder, of shed blood.

"Ahh, she awakes." a voice purred, hands encircling you, a face coming into focus.

Blue eyes of the desert came into view. Tattoos, marks of prophecy; symbols your mind could not comprehend adorned her face. Hair, brown and dark, hints of grey peppered in amongst the rest of her straight hair.

"Who are you?"

The woman smiled, and her breath was unnaturally odorless. The product of fasting, you assumed.

"You may call me Lady Jessica, if that suits you." the woman murmured. "Or Reverend Mother."

Lady Jessica Atreides, mother of Paul Atreides, the Lisan al Gaib, Muad'dib of the Fremen, prophet, the mind to bridge time and space. The mother of the demon-child Alia, St. Alia of the Knife, abomination, Reverend Mother, that which should have remained unborn. You knew her well. You knew of her hell-spawn, her corruption, her disregard for higher authority. She submitted to her son, but that was an illusion, you assumed.

"No." you rasped. "No, no, no, no!"

Jessica pressed a hand over your mouth, silencing you.

"Shh," she cooed. "No fear, no cries for help. None of it will make a difference for what I have planned for you."

Since you were a child, since before you had the ability to comprehend the complexities of being a Harkonnen, of being a but a half-breed, you'd always known that it had been okay to run to your mother. Scraped knee? Mother. Your older brothers cornering you? Run to mother. Maids jeering and bothering you? Mother. Lonely, scared and wet after an acid polluted thunderstorm caught you and burned your skin red and painful? Mother. It was in these moments of foolish vulnerability that your heart would sing for that connection, that safety. It was futile. Emmi Harkonnen had died years prior.

"Hmm... Alia may have made her first mistake." Jessica mused, dissecting your fearful micro-expressions. "Or only partly right."

Jessica's hands reached up, cupping your face, brushing hair out of your eyes. Thumbs glided over your brows, analyzing your expressions carefully.

"No... You'll be much easier to crack this way..."

Hauling you up and into her arms felt deceptively easy for Jessica. Her body had hardened and grown sinewy with tough, resistant muscle the longer she remained in the desert. She drew you to her breast, resting head in the crook of her armpit. She reeked of sweetness, of sweat long dried, of the unmistakable tang of spice.

"There... Don't fight it, don't try to hide away." Jessica whispered, her breath now sickly sweet, from low-blood sugar, you guessed.

"You need to stop fasting." you murmured. "Your breath is sweet."

Jessica laughed a little, cradling you closer.

"I have complete control of my bodily functions. You need not concern yourself with the matters of my health."

Hands dragged over the cloth clothes the Sayyadina had pulled over you. Bandages covered your body in innumerable places, your leg was especially bandaged, the product of the fracture you'd sustained. Jessica continued stroking your face, pulling you closer, fingers desperately combing through your hair.

"It's been so long since someone's needed me... Even my own daughter outgrew the need for me once she was a year old..." Jessica whispered, her face showing signs of paranoia, of unmistakable jealous rage. "The Bene Gesserit have taken so much from me... My mother first, then my innocence, my connection with my Duke, my son's innocence, the life of my beloved, even my own daughter."

There was a madness in her eyes that could not be explained. She was strong, ruthless, ready to take and take and milk the desert of every last devotion to her cause, to her children that it could offer. But yet with all that work, with all that pain and suffering she'd put forth, her children grew farther apart from her. Jessica grabbed at the Harkonnen woman with desperation, pulling her in as close as their mortal forms could allow.

"No, you will be mine and you will love me."

"Let me go, I want to go home." you protested, trying to wiggle out of the woman's arms.

The madness in her eyes grew brighter, and she smiled obscenely.

"But you are home."

"I live on Giedi Prime." you whimpered.

Jessica let out a laugh so harsh it might have been mistaken for screech.

"Giedi Prime? No child. I could not send you back to your decaying father, to the dark, colorless, soulless world of Giedi Prime. You belong to me now. Arrakis will be your home. Then, one day, when the time comes, you and I will return to Caladan. We will live on the cliffs, the oceans will sing to us, the breeze... We will remember the good days, and make them ours once again..."

The woman in front of you, the woman who cradled you was haunted, deranged in ways that could not be explained. Whether she had been pushed too far by the loss of her house and her beloved Duke, or whether it had been the Fremen Spice Agony that had caused her to be so utterly consumed by her desires, by her visions of Paul and his propheted status as the Lisan al Gaib.

"I want to be close to my mother." you whispered.

This gave Jessica some pause, she stalled her frantic massage of your scalp, your neck, your face.

"I could be your mother, if you wanted." she whispered. "I could be that for you... I could be whatever you needed, just so long as you needed me."

Jessica seemed on the verge of a breakdown of some sort. Whether it would result in violence, in verbal aggression, tears, yelling or complete psychosis, she was close to cracking all the way.

"I just. Need you. To need me." Jessica whispered.

Pity. The first feeling that came over you when she said those words. The woman in front of you was fearsome, yes. But the truth was she was broken. For all the psychic enhancement and wisdom she'd maintained, she was scarred and brutalized, a thing of beauty and willpower turned feral and menacing due to the elements of the desert planet Arrakis. It was a look you'd seen in your mother, days before Feyd had murdered her. An animal cornered, and animal bearing it's teeth and striking out at anything that dared confront it. Fear. For all of Jessica's training and years of containing her fears, she had never conquered one. Jessica Atreides, Reverend Mother and widower of the Duke Atreides, daughter of the Baron Harkonnen, mother of the most fearsome leader of the advanced times was afraid of being abandoned, of no longer being needed.

"... I don't want a mother... I don't think I could bear treating another woman with the same type of affections as I gave my mother."

Jessica's face spasmed in grotesque anger and betrayal.

"But I need someone. And I don't have anyone to turn to."

She swallowed, a vein on her forehead bulging with the stress of containing her emotions.

"I am that person." she rasped, voice coming out in violent puffs of air. "No one else will put up with you, no one else will bother keeping you alive. You are stuck on Arrakis. The Harkonnen troops are dead, Grossu Rabban is dead. No one will come to save you." Jessica sneered, violently digging her hands into your hair. "The Bene Gesserit will abandon Princess Irulan here as the bride of Paul, the Emperor will retreat back to House Corrino with the Bene Gesserit. They will not bother hauling a bastard such as yourself with you."

Her words rang harsh, true. You needed the woman in front of you to survive, and you suspected that without someone to love, to love her back in the ways she needed, she too would find herself irrevocably insane.

"I know."

"Silence!"

Your mouth clamped shut, teeth clacking together aggressively. Jessica let out a low whimper, holding you close. She seemed to be muttering in a foreign language, eyes glazed from effort. It was becoming apparent that Jessica did not have control over her body as she said she did, or, more accurately, she was pushing it to limits that were unsustainable. You managed to reach for a glass of water. Jessica did not notice. Your throat begged for moisture, you needed the water as much as she did, but if she died and you didn't... No one would keep you alive.

"..." you tried to speak, but the command remained.

Bringing the cup to her lips, you managed to coax her into drinking. Jessica's hands flew to the cup, gulping down the water greedily. You suspected it was the first time she'd had water in days. Dates lay on the table. Again you were presented with the dilemma of eating it and fueling your weak body or giving it to the weakened Jessica. You brought the dates to her mouth, one by one until they were gone. She appeared to recover gradually. As her senses came to her, she called out to a Sayyadina, requesting something.

"You are wiser than I thought." Jessica murmured. "I had not realized how long I had been fasting."

The Sayyadina returned with food, hot and earthy smelling. She handed you a bowl, allowing yourself to eat without help. But as you struggled with coordinating in the awkward position, she ultimately grabbed the bowl, spoon feeding you like a child. Water was provided, and the relief it brought was indescribable. Jessica finished her own portion of food, ingesting more water. She appeared to be healthier now, more content and less capable of descending into madness.

"There. Now we are both taken care of." Jessica smiled. "You may speak now, the command only lasts for as long as I wish it to."

You looked around, seemingly looking for something to say to test your ability to speak, but found none. Jessica noticed this, humming appreciatively.

"Alright then, if I must speak first, so be it. You said that you did not need a mother. Of that I can understand, but do not necessarily agree with. Everyone needs a mother figure in their life, until middle adulthood I would imagine. You are young still, you require coaxing, teaching, nurturing."

Jessica's words were wise, of that you could not argue with.

"But you do not wish for a mother figure. I will not press the matter. I will allow you to naturally find that mother figure, but, you will receive all of your needs for companionship, for safety, for community directly through me."

Her words contradicted themselves, but dwelling on it seemed unwise. Jessica leaned forward, searching your eyes with hers in a way that seemed uncannily invasive.

"I'll find exactly how you need me." Jessica whispered. "Don't worry."

Her breath smelled of the curry she'd eaten. It was hot, no longer tinged with sweetness. And her eyes danced in ways that seemed almost provocative.

"... Oh no. I retract my earlier statement. My daughter was right." she whispered, voice a little husky, slightly hoarse.

A hand trailed down your thigh, nails snagging on the thin fabric, making contact with the skin beneath your pants.

"Desire."

The command inflamed your injury-restricted desires, white-hot lust burning through your body in maddening ways.

"Oh, I've always wanted to try that." Jessica smiled, eyes a little manic as she watched heat bloom over your cheeks. "Open your mouth."

It wasn't a direct command infused with the Voice, but in your altered state, it might as well have been.

"Accept the gift of my water." Jessica whispered, spitting into your mouth.

In any other circumstance, the act would have been seen as ridiculously demeaning, but combined with your basic knowledge of Fremen culture and the lust-addled state of your brain, it was enough to cause a slight gasp to fall from your lips. Jessica let out a soft laugh, kissing your cheek forcefully.

"Swallow."

You did as obeyed, her spit sliding down your throat. Jessica caught the motion with her lips, savoring the act.

"Again." Jessica whispered, hand holding your jaw.

Her saliva hit your tongue, and you closed your mouth. You waited for her lips to find your throat before swallowing. Jessica hummed, bringing your body closer.

"Now my water lives inside of you. You'll be mine before you know it."

Slowly, about as slowly as it took for your body to absorb the moisture she'd delivered you, your body stopped desiring. But the humiliation of the act lingered. The claim, the power she had of you, her words. That remained for much longer than you cared to admit.

[sweetinsaniiity]

ateez as !mafia members

pairing: y/n x ot8 members (bullet format headcanon) genre/au: mafia!au, no smut, but still MDNI since there are depictions of violence (fitting for mafia members), though they are not explicitly described (warnings below), toxicity in relationships, falling in love, red flags, marriage, engagement, pregnancy, betrayal, deception, bank heist rating/warning: PG-18+ so MDNI!!! no smut (though there are hints of it), however the genre itself has mature settings, gun use, !daddy dom Hongjoong, mentions of sadism! Seonghwa, two-faced! Yunho, sociopath! Yeosang, Stockholm Syndrome! San, manipulative! Mingi, lunatic! Wooyoung, brutal! Jongho word count: 6K words (approximately 750 words per member) synopsis: Just Ateez in the mafia with their personalities and how they found love in the most unconventional manner. notes: I've been getting a lot of requests for mafia! Ateez and tbh, I've been itching to write something like this anyway while, spoiler alert, the second part of Sick, Little Games is ongoing. This was a plot for something else, but oh well. Enjoy! Warnings at the end. taglist: @ginger-mingi @0rangemilk @ruubyrubes @oddracha @jaytheatiny @roxannecos

networks: @cultofdionysusnet @wonderlandnet @othersideoutlawsnetwork @illusionnet @pirateeznet

HONGJOONG

The Sovereign; the head, the brains

pure evil because why the hell not?

honestly lacks empathy, he will get what he wants, come hell or high water

no nonsense bullshit leader, he is an extremely calculating, conniving and diabolical mastermind

he walks the talk and immediately takes action after making a bold decision without a second thought

always gets make fun of because of his height, but it's okay, they'd be dead by daylight

when getting information, he doesn't get involved. why?

because he's the one who taught everyone they needed to know, every bloody, gruesome detail

brilliant strategist and an absolute criminal genius, nothing gets past him

could off anyone or anything without any expression or remorse, whether they're innocent or not

there are rumours that Hongjoong had tied a cinder block on someone's foot and the tossed them in the ocean for information

or that perhaps he broke into prison alone to save Seonghwa and then broke back out without getting caught

we will never really know, but if it makes your skin crawl, then it's probably true

and speaking of Seonghwa, the other half of Matz, they built the mafia from scratch

feared by many but will burn the world to make his members happy

will sacrifice the world if it means being with them

or sacrifice Wooyoung if he gets pissed enough

but with how Wooyoung is, he'll end up sacrificing himself, instead

he will never, ever admit that he has a soft spot for the man, though

the others aren't any better either

but he'd tell himself, as long as he'd think of them as five year olds to begin with, being a leader becomes a bit easier

he meets you when he was in the pub one night and he saw you go in the bathroom

he was stunned and was immediately smitten

without thinking, he got up from his seat, went into the bathroom, locked the door, and waited for you

you were surprised and scared, obviously, but blushed when you realized that this was the guy that you've been eyeing all night

but you were too drunk to flirt back, so you ended up puking on his shirt

Hongjoong saw red, and in a fit of rage and lust, he demanded that you come home with him to make up for it

it was so embarrassing and the next year, you automatically remembered it when you woke up

you also woke up to a naked man who slept peacefully beside you and you were mortified, and you knew that this man was no normal man, so you couldn't make a move to leave

but it was okay, his demand to take you home turned into marriage after two years

!daddy dom

very demanding both in his profession and in bed

although you didn't agree on everything he did, you had no right to stop it, and if anything, you admired how he ran his empire

there has never been a time where left you unsatisfied not only in that area, but also in general when he has to get busy

not big on affection but loves holding hands, though he will never admit it

would get on his knees if you asked him to

8/10, approach him with caution

SEONGHWA

The Sadist; devil incarnate in looks and in action

causes as much pain as possible for his own benefit

not necessarily a schadenfreude, just extremely bitter and very goal-oriented

he doesn't hide the fact that he's a sadist, but he doesn't go around bragging about it

he just doesn't give a shit, he didn't invent the moniker

but Seonghwa never k*lls, ever

which makes things worse because he's a very patient man, he will get the information he needs even if it took him days or weeks

it prolongs his enemy's agony, in his mind, they'll eventually give in, and he's usually right

the other half of Matz

went to prison for Hongjoong because he wanted him to start Ateez immediately

he didn't mind prison, it was rather peaceful for him

if anything, it served as a turning point for his criminal life, he had made tons of connections, both by force and from his charm, and Hongjoong was less than surprised

if anyone was to grow their network, it was him because when God made Hongjoong, 95% was for his insane leadership and criminal mind, the rest was unknown

as a person, Seonghwa is cold and expressionless. the only time he shows emotions is when he's in an "operation"

he always gets his hands dirty, he would disable his enemies, but he would never end them

the fear of d*ath and the unknown is delicious, he said

it made him feel alive, or feel in general

he may not be the leader, but his members have a certain respect for him

except for Mingi. he does care for the taller member a lot, but Mingi made it his life's mission to annoy him as much as possible

and unfortunately for Mingi, his manipulation tactics don't work on him

"You think I'm an idiot?" Mingi would tease.

"Hardly. I think you posses above average intelligence," he would deadpan

you meet him when you tried to join the mafia

Seonghwa isn't a saint, but you're no angel either. you eliminated everyone trying out just so you could be on top

you didn't care if you cheated or crossed anyone, you had to be on top even if it killed you

and unknowingly, you had sparred with Seonghwa, and he lost

when you found out he was the Park Seonghwa, you were embarrassed because he had let you win on purpose

it hurt your ego, you had never lost before to anyone, and Seonghwa's smirk told you that he knew this

you trained under his wing, and slowly, you began to fall for him

he looks like he has never moved for anyone, like a panther, his moves are elegant, mysterious, and sleek

and you're the only he cares enough to hurt about, you were what truly made him feel alive rather than the blood that totaled his hands

at first, he rejected you, he didn't want romance to hinder him from his job and all of what came with it

you were heartbroken, but you accepted it, it made sense, falling in love wasn't in your cards, but you fell anyway

Seonghwa couldn't stay away from you, however, whenever he saw that you were making steps to move on, his heart would bleed

in the end, you won, because he did fall for you, he fell much, much harder

in fact, he had fallen for you way before you did, he just didn't want it fester in case it stopped him from being the ruthless Ateez leader

!possessive boi

so much so that he pretty much coerced you into a relationship, not that you minded, you thought it was hot

if he can't have you, then no one else can, he's going to make sure of it

a walking, talking, oversized red flag, but you're colour blind

the members often teased him for being whipped, he would just glare at everyone until they left

you always melted whenever he would pull you and gently kiss your on the forehead

in public, you'd both be very professional about the work, but when it's just the two of you, God knows how much you both can't keep your hands off of one another

9/10, approach at your own risk

YUNHO

The Serpent; a treacherous snake who will betray you

he's very friendly, like that of a small puppy, and may seem like he's very reserved

but make no mistake, Yunho excels in using psychological t***ure and will go to no end for his goals

behind his smiles is a brutal man who is worse than Seonghwa, for a man who is willing to betray anyone is very ruthless and powerful

when the enemies are getting interrogated, he often makes them believe that they are safe and that he's on their side

he will listen to them, bring them food and comfort items like clean clothes, clean pillows, and the likes, while they are detained

facade drops when he's done getting what he wants and destroys the enemy before they catch on

or when he's in an especially cruel mood, he would sometimes warns his enemies that he'd hurt them

the enemies would then panic while they're imprisoned, but Yunho would never do it. He would do this everyday until the prisoner goes insane waiting

but for the most part, Yunho typically let Hongjoong and Seonghwa handle all the bloody details, he had more penchant with the ones he had the settle some scores with, which was not common

he has a soft spot for Jongho because he's the only one who would shake his head at him when he got too far

Jongho would also be the one who'd tell him to cut his 'playtime' short because in his opinion, it's waste of time

he's so good at his act that the members don't even know his real personality sometimes

but Mingi, the other half of YunGi, does

they've been together all their lives, what's another life of crime? Only Mingi truly understands him

and you did too, you knew Yunho for who he really was and he absolutely loved you for it

Yunho and Mingi were childhood friends who had moved away when you were in middle school

you had the biggest crush on Yunho and you never forgot him even after all those years, and apparently, neither did he

one day when Yunho robbed a bank and held everyone hostage, his breath was caught in his lungs when he saw the fear in your eyes as you held your hands up

at first you weren't sure, but when you took a closer look at the man who had decided to rob the bank you worked at, you couldn't help but grasp

he completely aborted the heist and took you with him instead, much to Mingi's surprise

you didn't want a criminal for a boyfriend, but unfortunately for you, Yunho worked on his facade

he did everything to win you over, be it flowers, clothes, jewelry, etc.

you were going to fall for him all over again if it's the last thing he'll ever do, he had no idea why he was doing it or why it had to be you, but it had to be

you always frowned at him, he can't buy your love, so he changed his tactics, he began to cook, massage your back, rub your feet, and do every acts of service he could think of

and his hugs were always the tightest

Yunho was close, all he had to do was just do whatever it was that made you squirm, and behind all the sociopathy, he was genuinely happy that you were seeing him for who he was

you fell in love with the facade and he dropped it when you did, but it was too late

you knew in your head, that you shouldn't, but you couldn't help it

you didn't mind, he treated you like a princess and he was so sweet, and deep down, you knew Yunho was a good man

but was he?

every time Yunho thought about, he couldn't but smirk as a chuckle bubbled up from his chest

but he did really love you, he's always had, there's no doubt about it, how could he not when you're the most beautiful person he's ever laid his eyes on?

that love is based on his own standards, though, and you shall never find out, he'd rather end you than let you go

9/10, if you value your sanity, keep your distance

YEOSANG

The Resistance; he refuses to do bad by choice

he prefers to stay in the shadows because he doesn't believe that violence is a one and done all deal

he's more of a backup just in case things get messy

one could say that he's a pacifist, a peace monger of some sorts,

a very cunning and calculating person, however, when his patience runs thin or worse, out

has a very deceptive face that he uses to his advantage and he usually looks calm

but he's a true sociopath with no true open compassion with very warped beliefs

equally as psychotic as the others, if not worse

the others are very upfront about their brutality and violence

but Yeosang pretends that he doesn't like violence because of his disconnect with the world

but when he does get violent, the hair on everyone's arms rise

even Hongjoong is sometimes horrified of his actions, believing that he originally had good intentions, but lost them along the way

his pacifism is for the greater good, at least in his mind, but he definitely goes too far with his wickedness and delusions of grandeur

one time, he watched Yeosang interact with their enemies and he became very unsettled

he was just talking to them as if it was just a normal day

until he heard Yeosang say, "This is a brawl. I'll let the last man standing go free."

both of them watched as the enemies started betraying and eliminating each other until the strongest man was left

Hongjoong raised a brow when Yeosang offed the last man and he asked him why

"I don't like people with no honour," Yeosang shrugged. "He has no loyalty to his team."

Jongho, his best friend, wasn't at all surprised at how twisted Yeosang's logic was

they both decided to send him to a mental hospital for the time being to sort himself

that's a lie, the last thing the police would look for to find a criminal was in a mental hospital

and that's where he met you, he couldn't help but wonder why someone as sweet and innocent as you would be doing here

you never did tell him your reason, but he didn't care, he slowly lost his mind when he realized that he liked your company

when you saw him, you thought he was cute, until you found out that he was actually crazy in the head

that didn't stop you from hanging out with him though because you were curious why he was always alone

Yeosang mentioned that he has a violent background and he was pleased when you just shrugged and said that everyone lives differently and some things that are right for others may not be for another

he knew then and there that he had to have you

imagine Hongjoong's surprise when he picked up Yeosang and he threatened him that he'll remove the mental hospital from existence if you didn't come along

and he actually would, all you had to do was say the word

the leader sighed when all you did was smile at him, looks like Yeosang found someone to tether him down

the way Yeosang was looking at you as if you'd tell him to actually to burn the hospital was endearing and so Yeosang coded

8.5/10, just don't get in his way

SAN

The Assassin; the indestructible gladiator

if a job or task seems difficult, consider it done when it comes to San

the perfect machine, he will do everything and anything that is asked of him without questioning whether or not they're moral or ethical

he's very by-the-book and indifferent, his cruelty depends on who's asking and it ranges from tame to absolute destruction

extremely skilled at hiding his atrocities and never leaves behind any evidence

which is why he is Seonghwa's favourite member

because a psychopath following a psychopath always ends well for everybody

despite his rugged appearance, San is very quick-witted and very scheming, especially when he's about to get caught

second to Yeosang in making himself try to look normal in public

the only difference being that he is very hollow and he doesn't have a sense of entitlement in what he does

San is not interested in knowing why his tasks are the way they are nor why he has to do them while Yeosang only does them if he think there's some greater good in them

the sooner he does what is asked of him, the less headache he has

because he's perfectly aware that he's a tool for the mafia to use for their own benefit and he's perfectly fine with that

his platonic soulmate, Wooyoung, is trying to dissuade him from this line of thought, he's deeply saddened that that's how San thinks of himself

the tattoo on his thigh remind him of that everyday

he saw you for the first time when Seonghwa had instructed him to eliminate you because you were at the wrong place at the wrong time

at first it wasn't a problem so he kidnapped you in broad daylight

when San took the mask he had put on your face and took a closer look at you, his biggest problem started then and there

he had never seen someone so small, so pure, and so utterly scared of him

he couldn't do it, he couldn't eliminate you, especially not with his own hands, his heart wasn't letting him move at all

for the first time in his life, he felt the need to disobey

it was love at first sight, so after explaining to you honestly why he had to do it, you halfheartedly went into hiding in his house

he lied to Seonghwa that you were gone, and the older wasn't convinced, but regardless, he let it go for now

it was certainly a new arrangement for both of you, you were angry because you knew he put a hit on you

your greedy brother sold you to the mafia so before you changed your mind, you told San to do whatever he wanted with him

San smirked, for all the people he took orders from, yours was the one who made his heart sing

one day, Seonghwa visited San's house by surprise after a couple of months, he was shocked that you not only were you alive and well, but you were now playing house

so San does the most insane thing he could do, he proposed to you in front of a jaw-slacked Seonghwa

Seonghwa almost had an aneurysm when San came clean, mafia morals states that it's taboo to touch a member's partner

it wasn't difficult for you to say yes, you had come to love San for who he was although it was difficult at first

he was a gentle lover, and you didn't care what he was or what he's done, San's loving and caring personality made up for it

you two would stargaze on his roof as you both held hands, sometimes he would put a rom-com movie to make you happy, or he would plan a picnic just for the two of you

being engaged to San was the best decision of your life

you genuinely love the way he was, killing machine and all, but you couldn't help but fall in love with him more

especially with how attentive he was on your needs, especially adjusting to the mafia life

his kisses were definitely the sweetest

9/10, you'll be safe as long as someone doesn't put a price on your head

MINGI

The Politician; his silver tongue can make pigs fly

he has the ability to gain control in literally any situation because of the power he exudes

very charming and very dangerous because of his impeccable confidence towards himself

as charming as he is, he is mostly mad, intimidating and mad

smooth talker, he can get away with justifying his atrocities

he is a textbook diplomat, he can talk his way to get whatever he wants, whenever he wants, from whoever he wants

him and San made a deadly combination, one did whatever anyone wanted and the other can convince the enemy that being dead was good

Mingi's charisma is something to be trifled with, everybody wishes to shoot him but somehow find themselves compelled to not do so

highly intelligent and loves to manipulate people for fun to make himself appear more trustworthy, much like his childhood best friend, Yunho

in actuality, he is a heartless, psychopathic animal who would do anything to conform his sick-minded personality

when he's irritated, he'd violently force others into unfair deals sometimes for the mafia, sometimes because he's bored

expert extortionist, by the time the enemy realizes that they've been made to say and do whatever Mingi wanted, it's too late

there is no backing out because Mingi has no problem ending people who waste his time

he has no mercy, because unlike the other members, he eliminates swiftly, he doesn't care about playing games

his members, especially Seonghwa, Yunho, and Wooyoung, loved playing with their victims, Mingi did not

he also eliminates for absolutely no reason but for his entertainment and his intimidating aura helps him in this regard

as a person, Mingi is actually rather chill

San said that if he didn't know how deadly Mingi was, he would have killed him a long time ago with hoe annoyingly chill he was

"Look at this schmuck," San would scoff. "Doesn't even look like he can shoot a gun."

"Wanna find out?" Mingi shrugged. "Your muscles ain't shit."

and that's how he won against an angry San, who was blinded by his annoyance, when he smacked the gun out of San's hand

things like these always come easy to him, all he had to do was exploit their weakness and use it against them

and it was how he almost has you in the palm of his hand, all you had to do was surrender to him

he hadn't mean to see you, one day he was out with Yunho for coffee and when they were about to leave, you passed him and your scent was captivating

one thing that made his brows raise was that, yes, his manipulation worked on you, but something didn't sit well with him

you felt like the prettiest girl whenever Mingi would shower you with gifts and loads of attention

he was your type of guy - tall with jaws craved by God, body slim and hips begging to be held - he was a dreamboat in your eyes

sooner or later, what turned out to be curiosity on his end, transformed into an unhealthy obsession

you were his, whether you liked it or not, whether you knew it or not

and so you rejected him when he confessed his want for you, which absolutely shocked him, all you did was smirk, you had him where you wanted him

but it was your turn to be shocked when he smirked, all the obsession he showed, the attitude, the gazes, the confession, he had you where he wanted you

you couldn't help but laugh when you realized at how you manipulated each other, but Mingi was starstruck

you weren't complaining much, he had the most dominating hold on you, and if you escaped from him, you'd pay, because you can always run, but you never hide from him

10/10, do not approach

WOOYOUNG

The Hedonist; disorder and havoc are what makes him fully function

wholeheartedly believes that chaos is the only solution to peace

the most deranged out of everybody, his mania has no limit because unlike the others, his violence brings him pure pleasure

is the most headache-inducing member because of his impulsiveness and inconsistent cruelty, which makes him one of the most frightening members

he can be very cruel, and when he is, his methods are very, very slow and prolongs the agony of his victims until they beg him to just end them

sometimes they're so fast that his enemies don't know what hit them

- the master of prolonging his victims and playing with his food before devouring them

it all depends on his mood, but the point is, his unpredictability is what makes him very dangerous

he is highly capable of hurting everyone without hesitation due to his lack of restraint

however, what sets Wooyoung apart is his high impulse control, this means he can control himself on command

what makes him especially dangerous is that he is completely aware of what he's doing and he knows that consequences of his actions, he just doesn't care

in short, Wooyoung is absolutely crazy and not in his right mind

it was technically his fault why Yeosang was as unstable as he was, but he thought to himself, he was doing his friend a favour

"Have you ever regretted meeting me?" Wooyoung grinned.

"Every single day of my life," Yeosang scoffed.

sulking, he dragged San with him so they could get a tattoo together, later, he offed the tattoo artists for agreeing with him and not bothering to stop his decision

he was surprised that San didn't even protest, but that was his closest friend so he won't argue

when Yeosang was sent for damage control, the man just face palmed himself and left, deciding that he'd rather get punished by his leaders than involve himself in this mess that is Jung Wooyoung

but make no mistake, as demented and highly unstable as he is, he is Hongjoong and Seonghwa's right hand man and the members respect that

though they are close to ousting him and the members are very, very close on making a petition to demote him

brilliant planner, he plans his attacks in advance, as impulsive as he is, he always prefers tactical planning rather than facing his enemies face on

after all, his strategic mind was what led him to plan and steal you from your home

you were the enemies daughter, and Wooyoung's insanity knew no bounds because for all the things he had made plans for, your capture was the one that made his skin tingle and his blood run fast

but you can't change a leopard's spots, despite all his planning, Wooyoung ended up climbing your window at night so he can see you

you were half naked as you prepared for sleep, but you ended up screaming so loud when you saw a shadowy figure climb your roof

he quickly covered your mouth and you both his under the sheets when your father came in the room

you sheepishly told him that you saw a bug fly in from the window and got surprised, in the end, he bought the excuse and left

"Hello, princess," Wooyoung smirked as he traced your skin with his finger

you squirmed, you knew Wooyoung's fascination for you and at first it irked you, but only because both of you were in a Romeo and Juliet situation

you have always been attracted to him, and he knew it, but you couldn't do anything about it

months and months after that, he still kept pursuing you and it got so bad that he would purposefully pick a fight with your father just so he could have an excuse to see you

your father was livid, it wasn't really a secret how much of an absolute lunatic Wooyoung was in the mafia world

however, even he couldn't deny how intelligent Wooyoung was and how his operations were always a guaranteed success with no loose ends

Wooyoung being with you had more pros than cons and at the end of the day, your father was a businessman

when your father had requested a meeting with Ateez and proposed a merge, they had agreed after both sides presented their thoughts

your father hissed at Wooyoung to hold his horses when he tried to grab you

imagine everyone's surprise when Wooyoung said this merge would have happened anyway, because you were already four months pregnant

9.8/10, intelligence and insanity would bring the apocalypse

JONGHO

The Liar; the most complex out of them all

while everyone focuses on being out there in action and extracting what they need to know, Jongho preferred to be in the side lines

not that he didn't know how to be out there, rather, they don't want him in there

Jongho is extremely cruel, and what the other members are good at, he's twice as brutal

he's twice as sadistic as Seonghwa, the only difference is that he doesn't get pleasure in hurting, twice as deceptive as Yunho, though not as arrogant about it, and he's twice as manipulative as Mingi

a lot of their enemies always underestimated Jongho and it only made him smirk

he always looked calm, emotionless, and nonchalant most of the time, it's usually this time where Jongho strikes

an exceptionally clever and absolutely cunning criminal genius and is most similar to Mingi - he doesn't like to play with his victims

his bloodthirst has does not accept limit, it's to the point that fellow member, Yunho, once suggested that the mafia may not even be enough to satisfy his bloodthirsty ravaging

with all of that being said, Yunho had took it upon himself to pull Jongho out of the action

"Goddamn it, Jongho, so much blood," Yunho clicked his tongue in annoyance when he saw that the enemy was long gone. "What did you use?"

when he lifted up a frying pan, Yunho's mouth drops, how much force had it taken for Jongho to produce this much blood with that?!

instead, he became the interrogator, and he is in charge of extracting even the hardest information he can get

which is fine by him, he's sick of being told off by his leaders about his brutality anyway, he owes no one an explanation

Jongho doesn't like to get his hands dirty, most of the time he can manipulate someone or force even an entire group to give him what he wants without lifting a finger

so now, Jongho's content with sticking to the question, the physical and psychological t**t**ing was his members' forte

however, even some of the members fear him, it isn't like Seonghwa where it's fear out of respect

some enemies are hard nuts to crack, and this is when Jongho enters, they call their last resort

easily the most dangerous and spine-chilling member, he doesn't get involved in all the brutality now, but when he does, they're very vile

they're so vile and atrocious that Hongjoong had instructed that only the worst of the worst should be brought to Jongho

his best friend, Yeosang, tried to contest this verdict, but to no avail, even he knew how bad it can get with Jongho

of course, the higher the peak, the harder the fall, and in most cases on his end, it's pure, unadulterated rage

this is Jongho's biggest weakness as it causes him fatal flaws of mistakes that are very much crucial

like that one time you callously kicked him out of the local library

despite his ruthlessness, he actually loved reading and gaining knowledge on the most mundane of things

so when you started your new job there, of course, he took notice of you, how could he not?

you were something worth reading, you were an enigma that tempted him to read further on, but he stopped himself, he wasn't all evil - you were innocent, his life wasn't for you

you looked so sweet, he didn't want to corrupt you, but oh, did he want to so badly

his thoughts were interrupted with a phone call from Yeosang, and the next thing he knew, he was seething in anger outside

in your defense, you didn't mean to, you took notice of him too and you cheeks blushed all the time, you panicked and didn't mean to kick him out

you were going to pay for this, he thought, and so he had this brilliant plan of following you into your apartment

you were about to close the door when his foot stopped it and he squeezed his way in, you didn't even have time to be surprised, he left before he could do anything

"Dude, you're an idiot, that isn't how you pick up girls," Yeosang snickered in delight

"Rich coming from the guy that met his girl in the nut hut," he snapped

in the end, he did man up and apologized to you the next day, and to Jongho's surprise, you invited him to your place for coffee

you confessed that you had a bit of a crush on him, this straightforward attitude made his heart skip and he tried to dissuade the confession

but you surprised him more when you admitted that you knew what he was and what he does,

you were the daughter of a man who owed money to Ateez, and your father did end up paying all of it back, but Mingi wanted him gone anyway

Jongho decided to let him go since he did do his end of the bargain

it was absolutely wrong, you couldn't get him out of your head, and when you were about to forget him, he suddenly showed up at your new job

you eventually found out that his love was the most genuine

he wasn't the biggest fan of physical affection, but he did love showering you with it the best he could

he loved fixing your hair for you when it got windy, he loved patting your head and then leaning in to give you nose boops

the way he listened when you talked without making it about himself, it meant a lot to you

or when he would eat your favourite food with him even though the food you liked wasn't his cup of tea

or perhaps when he automatically removed food from your plate that he knew you hated

your favourite was when he would hold your hand under any table, or any hidden physical contact

10/10, extremely dangerous, do not approach at all costs

𝙵𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: please do not take this seriously. This is not a representation of the Ateez members in real life and this is not a go-signal for anybody to fulfill this type of fantasy. This is figment of this author's wild imagination to share with anyone and it shall stay that way.

𝙳𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜: @thecutestgrotto

[cripplecharacters]

This might not be relevant to this blog, but I kinda want a second opinion in case it might hurt people. I'm making a webcomic and when I introduce new characters I like to share playlists that represent them with the audience. One of my characters is a burn survivor with scars (resulting in limb and facial differences). I have the song Burn Alive by The Last Dinner Party on her playlist because I feel like the lyrics and theme really represent her character arc, but now I'm concerned that the imagery of "burn me alive" that occurs in the song might be upsetting, especially in relation to a character who is a burn survivor. Should I take it off, or make a note to go with it, or just leave as is?

Hello lovely asker!

I think this is okay even if it is in relation to their disability because they're is a lot of music that does talk about disability.

The Glass Passenger (Album) by Jack's Mannequin - About his cancer and treatment

I can't feel by Yours Truly - written about POTS

Moulty by The Barbarians - written about his hand amputation

I'm not gonna miss you by Glen Campbell - about Alzheimer's

Hospice (album) by The Antlers

Pain by Of Mice and Men - Marfans syndrome

There's even a lot of music that a lot of people with disabilities relate to also (I found and went through my old angsty early 2010's playlist to find these so excuse the selection 😅)

Runs in the family by Amanda Palmer

Medicine by Hollywood Undead

I'm so sick by flyleaf

Migraine by Twenty One Pilots

And probably so many others. This extends to even classical music as well

String quartet no.8 by Shostakovich

Symphony no.8 by Alfred Schnittke

Requiem in D Minor by Mozart

Other composers like Shumann and Ravel all have works that they wrote when they were Ill as well. A lot of surviving compositions during WWII era are also regarded as an example of the trauma/PTSD/anxiety/depression that was not uncommon during the time.

The whole point in music is expression, connection, and relation. The music says what you want it to say about your character, and there is that association. Disability has long been used in a metaphorical stance in poems and songs and even in our everyday language. I think if the song portrays it at something negative like using slurs or saying that the aftermath is something "Ugly", using the metaphor as something harmful or any other sorta negative language, then yeah it might be best to leave it out.

If there isn't any then it seems fine. If you're worried you can always remove it or maybe put those little note by each song and why you choose them and how they relate to the character! Even look up and see if you can find music made by other burn survivors and if any songs fit into the playlist for your character!

Hopefully this is helpful!

~ Mod Virus 🌸

[thesamoanqueen]

Anatomy of an affair

Warnings: age-gap (but we keep it legal), cheating.

A/N: I was talking to @alyyaanna and the anatomy professor's idea took control, I couldn't resist, so this one for her. It will have a sequel, this is just part 1.

They say the secret of a good relationship is friendship, I had scientifically proven that this wasn't the case being a test subject all my life. Tobert and I had grown up in the same neighborhood in Pendleton South Carolina, two nearby houses, our families loved each other, we went to school together, hung out with the same group of friends, we even broke our arms together – it was his fault –. For everyone we were two soul mates linked, it was inevitable in some way. We had done everything together our whole lives, the most mundane things and the first shameful experiences. Our relationship on paper was destined for success, absolute, overwhelming, our faces under the heading "goal couple", at least until I decided to study medicine in Boston and he stayed in our hometown. Our paths had separated for just three months before he had a bad accident at his uncle's construction company, he had begged me, it had been a tough decision, but I had agreed to come back to support him. But now that I had finally taken control of my life, in my second actual year of studies, Tobert was boycotting everything again.

For the entire previous year I had thought he was trying to distract himself from the void I had left in his life, filling it with trips and nights with co-workers and friends, but looking back I had been kidding myself. Our parents called every day to find out when we were getting married and if I would be home soon, but from him? Oh, well, a few calls, always short, couple of messages, often stupid ones, and a facetime on weekend for some creepy phone sex. He didn't come to visit me, he didn't organize anything when I returned home, for my last birthday he sent me a package with a sweater I suspected he hadn't chosen. And now, after months of tolerating it, I saw him in an IG story with a chick’s ass in his face.

- "Good Lord man!"

- "Sav have you seen? Sav?"

What I could see was that he was even enjoying it! He had the same stupid face of an old man who can't read the newspaper, the one has been in my face since we were fifteen, ending our moments like commercials on TV in his father's garage.

- "What’s with that face? Sav is it everything okay?"

- "Savannah…"

I had felt guilty for wanting to start again and leaving him behind, I was working hard to finish and return home, I had always pushed away the instinct that told me I deserved more and instead he was living his best life without worrying about hiding it. His behaviour was not somekind of abandonment syndrome, it was just one of his bullshit and evidences were everywhere. I was a freking clown, our relationship was a joke I had wanted to believe alone because after so many years it seemed impossible to think of anyone else to me, when he was simply used to having me there at his disposal and now he thought was free. I had wasted my life and almost burned my future…

Realization hit me in the cafeteria, my colleagues staring at me like at some psycopath and rightly so, because when the next story popped up on the screen, I snapped.

- "That asshole!" – my scream echoed throughout the entire hall, overcoming the chatter that always filled it.

The sudden silence that followed and the hand one of my friends smashed against my arm brought me back suddenly, but by then it was late. I had just made the scene I would probably always be remembered for. Standing with my latte dripping onto the couch and music now playing in the background like a bad theme for my drama, I saw dozens of eyes staring at me.

- "... Sav what’s you problem?! We got company... get your ass over here!" – my roommate whispered in a panic, nodding towards the two men who had been about to leave.

In slow motion I saw them both looking at me and to humiliation was added absolute terror when without thinking I raised my hand to wave an embarrassed greeting, restarting Tobert's story. Oh, they would definitely remember me for that scene.

There wasn't a person on the entire campus who didn't know about my performance and the worst thing certainly wasn't the rumors but rather pity looks, plus the extra tasks I had agreed to do to clean up my reputation and keep myself busy. I hadn't received any formal warning, not even a comment, but I didn't want to risk ruining my career after having already dropped out in the past. The idea of losing the opportunity of a lifetime to someone who had already gotten more than he deserved from me drove me crazy.

Tobert hadn't commented, probably his two brain cells hadn't yet met to discuss what to do or they didn't think it was serious, but I had clear ideas and I had chosen to run the circus, patiently planning the day I would have kicked him with my degree.

So armed with good will and courage I marched across campus with my head held high, ready to face my demons and regain total control. It was almost time for the anatomy course to start and I planned to pass with top marks, but to do so I also had to make sure that the new professor didn't just remember me for screaming that day in front of him and his predecessor. My friends talked about him constantly, but I didn't have time for gossip, I had to seem like the right person to invest in for the future of medicine. When I arrived in front of his studio, however, my intention seemed less simple than expected. The entire aisle had been assaulted by a crowd of students, mostly girls. If I had suffered from amnesia, I would have thought I was at a concert or among a nymphomaniacs cult. We weren't in California, those outfits were definitely out of season as well as indecent, what’s was wrong with all of them?

- "Do you think he will receive today?"

- "Ah, I hope so! I want to see him so bad!"

Forced to wait like everyone else, I caught up with the gossip I had refused to hear from my friends, discovering the new professor was not only charming, but also young and free, which explained the cult. I also sadly discovered firsthand he hated receiving students and from what I saw he didn't even respect the time when he should have been forced to do so. Sitting in my chair, I waited twice as long before seeing the other students go away resignedly with their tiny blouses and too short skirts, deciding to spending my time finishing the chemistry project I had to hand in the following week. With my head down and fixed not to give up, I continued typing on my keyboard until two voices distracted me.

- "You can't take care of it alone, it's not necessary and you shouldn't at all" – I knew Mr. Heyman, he was an authority everywhere thanks to his investments and was often in the area because of his daughter, as well as a good friend of the rector.

The other man with him, I had only seen him on the day of my drama and I must not have seen him well due to the shock, because if I had I would not have given dirty looks to all the girls who had waited for him with me. Was he really a professor? Since when were professors like that?! You couldn't be like that, it was disorienting, didn’t help to the teaching process.

- "I should find someone but I don't have time to waste, Paul" – he complained and his voice sent a shiver through my body as I watched them reach the door in front of me.

- "I could ask, I have some friends, I'm sure there will be many smart guys who would be honored to do it, extra credits or not."

- "I will do it."

I said without thinking, lost in thoughts I shouldn't have been having, and they both turned to look at me, just as confused and surprised by the interruption as I was.

I had planned to introduce myself, ask a few questions, apologize for the bad first impression and now I had just made another one, listening to conversations that didn't concern me, without even saying hello, volunteering for who knows what next. Perfect.

Once the confusion was over, Mr. Heyman looked at me with interest, almost analyzing me, and I quickly tried to put myself together, putting everything away to get up.

- "And you are?" – He asked, his hands hidden in the pockets of his elegant suit.

- "Savannah Naïs Simon. Among the best in my class" – I introduced myself without hesitation and once again mentally scolded myself.

Now I even praised myself?! I usually handled the pressure well, for that kind of career it was indispensable, after all, but all of a sudden I was making one misstep after another and I couldn't afford it, not now. Tobert wasn't there to screw things, I had no excuses, it was my time, it was up to me. Head held high, nerves strong, that's what I needed.

- "Among the best doesn't mean the best" – Mr. Heyman cut me off, shaking his head – "and we have to check it too. I'll make a call."

Struck dumb, I quickly tried to think of something, anything, to make my case. The other professors would have confirmed, but what would I look like standing there waiting for their help?

- "It's no use" – however, Professor Reigns, who had watched until that moment, stopped us both.

His voice really played tricks on my body, but when my eyes met his it was even worse. His expression conveyed nothing, I couldn't imagine what he was thinking, but he exuded authority and there was something magnetic about him, the kind of man capable of changing the atmosphere with just his presence.

- "Are you sure?" – he heard Mr. Heyman ask him, finally stopping looking at me.

- "I’ll take her" – he established, checking me for a brief moment and I held my breath without even realizing it.

He will… take me? for doing what? And was it positive or…

- "We start tomorrow morning" – he said, addressing me directly.

- "I will be on time" – I promised, even if he had already turned his back to me to open the door, Mr. Heyman following him without paying any more attention to me.

- "No phone Miss Simon" – he advised from afar, just before I was left completely alone in the aisle and I distinctly felt the weight of the entire campus falling on me.

I had risked making another scene, I had volunteered for something I didn't even know what it was, I would have had to move lessons to keep my word and I would have thrown away even the amount of time I had left to sleep. And once again that wasn't the worst, but the fact he remembered and had already targeted me before I could even apologize.

What awaited me was a role as an assistant for the entire duration of the course, but I only found out the following day, after spending the whole night awake. I wouldn't have much time to do anything else, it was clear from the first moment, but I had no intention of backing out after having volunteered. It wasn't just a way to make up for my bad impression, it was an opportunity for which anyone else would have gladly given an organ, I myself would have done so - who needed two kidneys? One was enough - and that would certainly help my career, I was lucky. Professor Reigns was a successful doctor, he had changed the landscape of pathological anatomy with his works and his presence was an honor for the university. Admissions to his course were closed after just one day and the program specified that a selection would still be made by him personally. Assisting him and observing how he worked could have given me a great advantage in the selection phase and that was what I was aiming for. Memorizing had always been my thing, but anatomy was much more than listing body parts.

However, reality once again did not correspond to my expectations and in the following three days, I felt more like a secretary than an assistant, with alla those emails and calls. He always arrived early and most of the time I found him sitting at his desk, looking at personal documents and boxes full of medical records. He worked with his head down for hours, often without speaking or taking a break, which wasn't good for my ambition, but at least it helped me not to get distracted because the rare times I saw him looking at me were a test of mental resistance.

His presence demanded attention, his imposing body promised what it shouldn't with the most banal gestures like a pen between his fingers. Calling him a good-looking man would have been an insult, the world was full of handsome and insignificant men, but he had something vaguely frightening, something I had never tasted before and it awakened an almost primordial impulse in me.

The sound of someone knocking on the door brought me out of my thoughts and I quickly straightened up, hoping nothing in me would give me away. I couldn't think about certain things, I wasn't there to daydream about affairs, not when my future was in play and my lifelong boyfriend had cheated on me. A student I had seen a couple of times appeared in the doorway, wearing a lab coat, a deep neckline underneath. Her blue eyes scanned the room where I was in search of what interested her and which was instead sitting in the near room.

- "I know it's not reception hour, but is the professor over there? I would like to talk to him in private about some things" – she said without even trying too hard to simulate and I batted my eyelashes at her, fascinated and annoyed at her courage before stopping her.

- "Unfortunately he is busy. If it’s important you can ask via email or otherwise wait for the course to start. Lessons start tomorrow morning, the time and place are already confirmed" – I anticipated, getting a reproachful look.

- "I need to see him now."

Oh, I could imagine it and I would have complimented the clever attempt to show up when no one was waiting if she hadn't been trying to call me dumb.

- "Can I help you now?" – I proposed without getting too upset and she seemed on the verge of losing her patience.

- "Can I have an appointment?"

- "Sure, I'll put you on the list."

I didn't see her expression, she was probably furious, but she didn't give me time, huffing her disappointment out of the studio, leaving me with the agenda in my hand. I closed it with a heavy breath, putting it back in my bag, where I had been advised to keep it so that it was always with me and never unattended. When I raised my head I almost had a heart attack, discovering Professor Reigns intent on staring at me from his desk, hands crossed, his expression curious.

- "I'm busy?" – he inquired and his low, rough voice made my neck tingle.

I hadn't told a lie, he was busy. He worked on those medical records all day, there was always some document on which he kept his eyes glued. Why was he staring at me like that? Maybe I shouldn't have spoken before asking yes, but my intentions weren't bad, I was trying to be helpful.

- "With the material for the research project and the visit to the rector this afternoon, plus I don't think she really had any questions" – I explained, clenching my fists praying that I could use them against myself because it would have been much better.

I spoke without being involved, I made decisions independently, now I also commented and implied. The unkind thoughts I'd had about Tobert were backfiring on me, bad karma.

- "Is that so?" – Professor Reigns asked curiously, leaning back in his chair and knowing for a fact it was better keep my mouth closed, I nodded, returning to look at my laptop in silence hoping to not have to explain anything else.

I couldn't talk about those things with a professor, someone who could have mentored me, it didn't matter if there wasn't that much of an age gap between us and we ended up on the topic. It was an off limits talk and I tried to focus on the topics outline he would analyze the following day during the first lesson, it had to be detailed and precise, but I couldn't even read what I had summarized until five minutes before.

- "Savannah right?" – I heard my name being called and even more shocked, I watched him finally get up from his desk to join me – "you want to be a cardiologist"

- "How... who"- I spluttered in surprise and putting hands in his pockets, he smiled at me amused.

A smile that would have knocked anyone out, perfect and soft, so incredibly unexpected on an authority figure like him. For three days he had paid almost no attention to me, only addressing me as necessary as Miss. Simon and I had never hoped for more than that, because of our first meeting and his role. Plus not many people knew my goal, after giving up and coming back was something I had learned to keep to myself.

- "Paul is a friend of mine and the rector's. He has his people. He was doubtful at first, but he thought better of it after a few calls and was right as always. You're doing a good job" – he replied, clarifying the doubts I wasn't even able to express and I felt my stomach tighten with emotion.

I knew I shouldn't expect recognition, not in such a competitive environment and when I was a nobody, but it was nice to know my effort was being noticed. Noticed moreover by people of that level. It was a rush of positive energy I really needed to give value to my sacrifices and know investing in myself was the right thing. Tobert and this sort of incestuous relationship we'd had had tried to screw everything, but I was still in the running.

- "I do my best, it's an honor" – I said enthusiastically, matching the smile he had given me, but he raised a hand to stop me, swinging his head.

- "Let's leave this out, I need support and an objective opinion at every lesson. I'm not a real professor, I'm a doctor, but it's an opportunity and everyone has something to pass on. Do you think you can do it, without distractions?" – He asked, throwing another dig at me, but this time I quickly got over it, nodding immediately.

At that point I would have done anything he asked me, I couldn't refuse him anything. It had been three days as a secretary, ignored and perpetually under pressure, but I had passed the test, I had earned his trust. He really wanted me to become his assistant now, he asked for my opinion even though we weren't equals in that field. Screw karma, I had already won in life at that point!

- "I can give my word Sir" – I promised and once again that smile appeared on his perfect face.

- "Good girl" – he approved, before leaving me again.

Those two words rang in my ears right inside my head, as dangerous as a spell and I had the impression of feeling my blood warm, while my body suddenly came alive and melted at the idea of having deserved that pet name. Subconsciously, I scratched my notebook, legs clenched under the desk as I watched the profile of his massive back. We had had an important moment and there I was holding my breath for something that Tobert had never in a lifetime been able to give me, after two words said without any intention.

I saw Mr. Reigns sit back down, rolling his shoulders with ease as he resumed whatever had occupied him before our chat. His eyes searched me one last time and a part of me that shouldn't have throbbed around nothing, making me lower my head to the lesson plan.

I was imagining it, it was in my head and it had to disappear as soon as possible.

Tag squad: @sunnyfleur23 @racerchix21 @alyyaanna @expert-texpert @romanreignsdefencesquad @romanstheory @claymorexpunisher @keybladeofsteel @msbigredmachine @nayys-world @gobbersworld @utika151209 @cumxxslutt @civildawn @romanmydaddy @triscillal @papireigns-05 @helensanders92 @darqchilddaydreamz @meggylynnloves @unfriendly--blvck--hottie @nicolewoo @joannasteez @reignsx @kianaleani @daguenoire @extra-11 @333creolelady @snowpanda18 @brattyfics @mzv11 @romanreignseater @dreamsinfocus @vebner37 @depressedneedingrevenge @cyberdejos2 @mahi-wayy @jxtina-86 @harmshake @southerngirl41 @smile1318 @headoftheetable @sortudademais

[spaceorphan18]

SO's Guide to the Bridgerton Children so @coffeegleek can tell them apart ;)

Violet Bridgerton

Okay, so first of all this is the mom of all these children. Her husband was Edmund. He got stung by a bee and died, so he is no longer around.

Anthony Bridgerton

Okay, so the oldest son is Anthony. He is the current Viscount (don't ask me about British nobility, I know nothing) and is currently running the Bridgerton estate, though that is not his favorite thing to do. He had very unfortunate sideburns in season one. And he likes to shout things like "you are the bane of my existence" and "LILACS". He does have oldest child syndrome where he acts like he doesn't want to be in charge, but he totally loves being in charge and telling everyone what to do.

His wife is Kate Sharma. She is a delight, and possibly the second best character on this show (obviously after Penelope). So just remember, passionate and loud guy with Kate -- that is Anthony. Oh, and they have one child who is being born in India because Jonathan Bailey is apparently very in demand right now.

Benedict Bridgerton

Benedict is the artsy, bisexual who hangs out on the swings with Eloise. He is an actual delight, but the writers don't seem to really know what to do with him. He makes a good comedic foil to Anthony. Also they cut his hair for seasons 2 and 3 which doesn't help the whole looking the same thing. We're speculating his season is next because of a bunch of hints. In the books he falls in love with a lower class girl.

Colin Bridgerton

Colin is the sweet, sensitive (most likely demisexual) writer and world traveler. He's got some insecurity issues, a massive hero complex, and is a complete simp for his wife.

HOW HAVE YOU FOLLOWED ME FOR THE PAST TWO MONTHS AND NOT KNOW WHO COLIN IS - C'MON GIRL, PAY ATTENTION

He is married to Penelope Featherington, aka Lady Whistledown, aka the best damn character on this whole show. 90% of the time, Colin is hanging off Penelope, so he honestly should be easy to spot. Also, he got her pregnant BEFORE the wedding and little Lord Feathertington was born 8 months into their marriage.

Daphne Bridgerton

She was the main character of Season 1, who looks a lot like Keira Knightly. You don't really need to worry about her, because it's doubtful that she's coming back.

She is married to the Duke - Simon Basset, Lord of Hastings or something. He enjoys licking spoons. Daphne burns for him. Again, he's not coming back so, you know, I wouldn't worry about it.

They do have a child together, a little boy I believe and I think they hinted at a second one? Idk, maybe the kids will come back to hang out with Gregory and Hyacinth at the end of the series.

Eloise Bridgerton

Probably my personal favorite Bridgerton? (Idk, Colin wormed his way up there.) She stands out because Claudia Jessie is just amazing at giving her a lot quirky mannerisms. She doesn't want to get married and is really into women's rights. She is also fucking hilarious. I would love her to be asexual, but the writers insist she's getting a love story at some point, so.... The internet would prefer her to be a lesbian. That's cool, too, but also unlikely to happen.

Eloise spends a lot of her time on swings with Benedict and in is often the third wheel with Pen and Colin (though sometimes Colin is that third wheel).

She and Penelope are BFFs. I LOVE THEM SO MUCH!

Francesca Bridgerton

Francesca is SUPER into the piano(forte) and really nothing else. There's really not a whole lot to say about her other than she IS probably going to be the lesbian of the show.

She is currently married to John Stirling. The two are very quiet together and that's exactly how they want it. Don't get too attached to him, he's most likely going to die in the next season. John also has a female cousin named Michaela, whom the internet is mad about because she is a woman -- making Francesca's future love interest a woman instead of a man. I say more power to the lesbians. Calm your tits folks, it'll be fine.

Gregory Bridgerton

OMG, look how adorable this kid is. He's gonna look just like his older brothers when he grows up. They've already given him a tad more to do in Season 3, and he's been an utter delight. I'm sure he'll be great leading Season 8 when we get to it in 2034.

Hyacinth Bridgerton

The youngest Bridgerton! She is excitable and energetic and super excited about all the marriages and also KNOWS who is ending up with who and is totally down for it. She is also a sassy delight and really can't wait until she starts holding her own with Eloise!

THERE YOU GO THAT'S THE WHOLE BRIDGERTON FAMILY - DOES THAT HELP??

[humbledragon669]

S2E1 - The Arrival Write Up P1 - Before the Beginning

Wow, it’s been a little while since I did one of these. So much of a while in fact, that I feel like I’ve forgotten how I like to do them. I went back and read over the previous ones I’ve done to try and get back into the swing of things, but I feel like I’m having a bit of an imposter syndrome going on (after all, who am I to tell people what they can so clearly see for themselves?), so please bear with me if this all feels a bit stilted to begin with. So, with that self-serving plea out of the way, let’s point out the obvious and immediate parallel between the opening of season two and its prequel:

There isn’t a banner for the first season to compare this with, but we all know that the storyline for the very first episode started “in the beginning”. The episode title was even named for the time period, although I think there was probably a bit more sub-text to that than just an indicator of a time frame. There’s another parallel to be had here too – this would appear to be the first time that Crowley (or whatever his angelic name was – I shall simply continue to call him Crowley for this section) and Aziraphale actually meet, mirroring the conversation on the wall of the Garden of Eden nicely, it being the first time they meet with Crawly in his demon form. Quick side note: the time period parallel makes me wonder if there will be something similar going on for season 3 – “after the beginning” perhaps? Or in a twist, maybe something about Crowley’s fall? Either would fit nicely with the running theme.

This will be the only time (notwithstanding whatever is to come in season 3) that we see Crowley in his existence prior to his fall, and therefore prior to his becoming a demon. The engine crank handle is a nice touch; it’s a lovely link to Crowley’s (much) later attachment to the Bentley, and to the use of the crank handle to restart time as we saw in the final episode of season 1. And it’s a nice thought – that the star factory is rather like an engine that needs a kickstart, even if that engine crank handle has no place in this time period, millions of years before cars ever became a thing. Quick side note on the engine crank handle thing: given that Aziraphale holds the diagram up in front of his chest, could it be that this is a subtle hint that Crowley doesn’t just kick the motor of the star factory into life, but Aziraphale’s heart too? It’s immediately after he does it that Aziraphale tries to introduce himself…

Can we just take a moment to appreciate this moment for what it is? A single moment, in millions of years, that Crowley needed a hand, happened to have another being passing by, recognised that there was someone around who could help, and had to yell to be heard because that being is nearly out of earshot. That single moment is the start of a slow burn that rivals all other slow burns. And they nearly missed it. It does make this beautifully innocent response from Aziraphale unbelievably sweet though:

Oh Aziraphale, you look so hopeful and inquisitive. You have NO IDEA of what’s to come, do you? And there’s such a lovely awkwardness between them in the conversation that follows – the cautious engagement from Aziraphale as he tries to work out what’s expected of him against Crowley’s almost blasé confidence that he knows exactly what he’s about. There’s something so childlike about them both – Aziraphale in his innocence and Crowley in his excitement – you really do feel that this is the start of something, that the potential is there for something bigger, just as it is with Crowley’s star factory.

Well, Aziraphale doesn’t waste any time trying to engage flirt mode, does he? This micro exchange makes me laugh so much, and it never gets any less funny. It’s such an obvious businesslike reply from Crowley to Aziraphale’s quite open and vulnerable introduction. And Crowley doesn’t even offer his own introduction back, though perhaps this is to do with maintaining the strange levels of secrecy surrounding Crowley’s angelic name. Look at how disappointed Aziraphale is when his curiosity and interest isn’t reciprocated though, it’s truly adorable.

His disappointment doesn’t stop him from given his new-found friend another once over though. Honestly, this is one very smitten angel from a very early point in their timeline together.

I had hoped that there might be the first suggestion of an Easter egg with the book that Crowley consults, but I’ve struggled to find one. I’ve deciphered the title of the book to be “Nebula 231, 080”, but I couldn’t find anything glaring in Strong’s concordance with the combination of numbers there, and the contents of the book itself flick through too quickly to make out anything other than indecipherable scribblings and some diagrams.

Despite the fact that Aziraphale’s first tentative advances were shut down so unceremoniously, his face gives away how he continues to feel about his new friend:

He looks almost proud, doesn’t he? As if he’s really proud of Crowley’s achievements, even though a) they’ve only just met and b) Crowley hasn’t actually got anything to show for his efforts just yet. Not until he says the magic words anyway:

I know I’m not the first one to pick up on this, but isn’t this line a little above Crowley’s pay grade? As I have mentioned before, my Christian knowledge is scant, but I’m fairly sure that’s God’s line. And what makes this particular line interesting is Aziraphale’s response to the creation of the nebula:

AZIRAPHALE: Ah. Good lord.

It’s not the first time we’ve heard Crowley referred to in this way either:

I know, any excuse to replicate that look from Aziraphale in 1792. Sue me. It’s pretty notable though, isn’t it, the repeated use of that particular exclamation in response to Crowley’s presence? I really want to think there’s something in this, after all we know that the words used in this show are never coincidental. I just can’t put the pieces together to come out with something believable because those three little snippets of information, when put together, would make it seem like Crowley is really God in disguise, which is nothing short of impossible. And before I forget and move on from the very obvious miracle Crowley performs (bringing his hand down instead of up as he does in his demon form), let’s just appreciate the return of the miracle noise we heard in the first season – this particular instance sounds like sleigh bells following that odd “full” noise I can only really describe as something we would usually associate with something really epic happening.

Aside from Crowley’s obvious physical and costume differences from his demon form, and the fact that his QE accent is more pronounced, we get to see Crowley genuinely excited in this scene.

Again with the adorable. And the childlike. Did I mention it’s adorable? And he’s so incredibly proud of what he’s achieved. Which will make it all the more heartbreaking when we see his upset that it’s all going to be destroyed in about 6000 years. But I’m getting ahead of myself (a tiny bit). Because we cannot move on without talking about the second bout of disappointment that Aziraphale has rendered to him in less than 2 minutes.

And what’s prompted this? Ah, that’s right, he thought Crowley was calling him “gorgeous”, only to realise that his new friend was actually referring to the nebula in front of them. You’d think the brush off from earlier would be enough to have reigned in his hopes a bit where this particular being is concerned, but it looks like he just can’t help himself (not that anyone would blame him). And here we see another interesting difference between angel-Crowley and demon-Crowley – he is uncomfortable about accepting credit for things that he hasn’t been fully responsible for. This is not the Reign of Terror or the Spanish Inquisition that he took full credit for despite not having anything to do with either – he barely takes the credit for work he has actually done, which Aziraphale is determined to give.

I feel like it’s a pretty obvious statement to make when I say that Aziraphale is actually making two, entirely separate, statements here. Because the first of them (“It’s very pretty”) isn’t actually directed at Crowley’s creation, is it? The second is, but it’s much more about Crowley’s involvement rather than the end product. For all we know, this is likely to be one of the only times in his existence that Crowley is actually given some heartfelt and deserved feedback for a job well done. No wonder he’s always on the hunt for more by claiming credit for stuff he hasn’t done. No, the first of those statements is about Crowley himself (gotta give him credit for his persistence), and that’s as plain as day to us the audience because actually Aziraphale doesn’t seem that bothered about the incredible light show unfolding right in front of his eyes. That gorgeous being floating alongside him on the other hand, he just can’t get enough of looking at him. It’s obvious he really enjoys Crowley’s enthusiastic energy, because he really doesn’t want to detract from it.

This. Delivery. My life, it gets me every single time. I feel like it’s a line I’ve delivered myself (along with those facial and hand gestures that help me feign interest) to my husband every time he tries to talk to me about a car engine. When I say it, the rough translation is “I really don’t care about what you’re saying because it’s totally pointless, but you enjoy it and I love you so I’ll humour you”. That about cover all the angles here? Poor Crowley is so excited about his project, he doesn’t even notice. His upset at being told that everything is going to be closed down in 6000 years though, that can’t be ignored.

This particular moment in the scene is an absolutely brilliant example of the way that the soundscape is used to underscore the acting in this show too – we had some very pretty celestial harmonies setting the tone for Crowley’s speech about baking stars, only to hear the music literally winding down as his excitement is so rudely deflated.

Once Crowley has acknowledged this pretty devastating piece of news, he’s quick to try and reason with Aziraphale as to why that particular plan shouldn’t go ahead. I have to say, he sounds quite reasonable to me, and he makes his point in very clearly. The important thing about his reasoning is that he’s starting to ask questions, to challenge God’s plan, which we all know is what got him into trouble in the first place. And I do so love the fact that Crowley has never heard of Earth before this conversation with Aziraphale, seeing as it’s a planet he will come to spend so much time on. Not that he’s that keen to admit his lack of knowledge to Aziraphale.

It’s the little nod before he, hesitatingly, admits he’s not heard of the blue/green planet that gives him away. But then Aziraphale seems so confident that it’s something that he should have heard of, I can understand why he’s uncomfortable admitting he hasn’t. It sounds as if Aziraphale has had a hand creating both Earth and “people”, which he’s almost as excited about as Crowley was of his nebula, so it’s probably a good job that the latter employs some tact here. The difference, when it comes to Crowley offering his feedback for the work that Aziraphale is involved in, is that the planet and the people appear to completely devalue all his hard work. His disbelief is obvious before Aziraphale has even finished giving his speech:

In typical Aziracrow fashion, we have one of them not listening to the other, and this time it’s Aziraphale that fails to pick up on the communication cues – look how delighted he is at the fact he just told Crowley that the beautiful nebula he’s created is nothing more than a pretty picture:

I suppose it’s nice to see, in a round about way, that their inability to truly hear one another isn’t something resulting from thousands of years in each other’s company, this being their first meeting. Unfortunately his delight only stokes Crowley’s indignation, causing him not only to ask more questions of the plan for creation but to openly refute God’s plans as being anything other than “idiocy”. Now, I agree with him (to my mind, it is genuinely ludicrous that an entire universe would be created for any other purpose than for beings to look at), but Aziraphale is very quick to set out his stall for the future from the very beginning – he is a company man after all.

AZIRAPHALE: I don’t think it’s our place to start suggesting that there should be a suggestion box.

It’s not long before Aziraphale starts to become really very uncomfortable with this conversation.

He is VERY worried about being overheard here, isn’t he? As well he should be I suppose. But what’s this little mini breakdown?

It looks an awful lot like a bit of a crisis of faith to me. In fairness, Crowley has made some pretty good points. What I’d give to know what’s going through Aziraphale’s mind at this point, and what I find very telling about the way he tries to resolve this situation is that the very last thing he does before trying to break the silence is to glance over at Crowley. It’s not difficult to see how depressed he is about this latest development, and Aziraphale, in a really sweet gesture, tries to pull him out of by giving him another (rather futile) compliment about the nebula. What’s interesting about this (to me anyway) is that this makes him the rescuer in this situation, with him trying to save Crowley, which is not the way it’s supposed to be, is it? What’s even more interesting is that he fails – fails to cheer Crowley up and fails to stop Crowley from getting into trouble. Maybe that’s the real reason why Crowley takes point on that moving into the current day…

You can see how pained Aziraphale is about Crowley’s general attitude, despite the fact they’ve only just met. He REALLY doesn’t want his new friend getting into trouble with the powers-that-be. But now it’s Crowley’s turn to miss his cue, and if Aziraphale’s anxiety wasn’t enough to tell you that he’s being far too blasé about his mood, the portentous bell that rings out in the soundtrack when he ask’s how much trouble he can get into for asking questions should tell you how right Aziraphale is to be concerned.

Alright we’ve got our final parallel for the scene – you all know what it is. It’s the wing shelter!

But before I go off into that, I just wanted to take a minute to appreciate Aziraphale’s look as the meteor shower (I have assumed that’s what it is) actually starts:

It’s really lovely – like he’s showing appreciation for one more beautiful thing created by his new friend. Right, moving on, I just want to take a quick look at what I said about the mirrored wing shelter in the first season:

Alright, now I have all the various bits of information brought together, let’s consider a few bits – not much, I know this has all been gone over with a fine-tooth comb before by other people. Firstly I want to point out that there is a difference between the two shelter scenes, which is that Crawly actually moves towards Aziraphale as it starts to rain on the wall. We do not see the same movement from Aziraphale with them both in Heaven. I find those couple of steps from Crawly potentially really interesting – it’s like he’s doing something that they have already been doing for a long time, with the unspoken knowledge that he’ll get what he needs without having to ask. What I also find interesting about both wing shelters is that, in the sheltering they leave themselves exposed to the thing they’re sheltering the other from. That doesn’t seem like too big of a deal when it comes to a bit of rain, but when it’s flaming rocks? I know they’re both full-blown angels at this point, presumably without human bodies, but that’s still gotta hurt surely? Which would mean that Crowley leaves himself exposed to damage in order to protect Aziraphale, despite the fact that the latter being didn’t ask for the shelter, and doesn’t even appear to notice it’s been given. So there’s another similarity between the two shelters – they weren’t actually asked for, but given, and without dissent. I don’t know if there’s a storyline reason for Crowley offering the wing shelter in season 2 – there has been some talk I’ve seen about it providing a link to the end of season 1 (because we see Aziraphale protecting Crawly/Crowley from water at the beginning and end of the season, and Crowley protecting Aziraphale from fire) and I do like that. Part of me wonders if there are much more basic reasons for the respective shelters – the script states that Crawly’s wings look rather worse for wear in the Garden of Eden, so they weren’t going to act as a very effective shelter. Similarly, Aziraphale doesn’t seem to appreciate that there’s any danger when the meteor shower takes place, probably because of his lack of knowledge about the whole environment, so Crowley could have done his own shelter out of pity. Ultimately I think there’s one thing we can definitely all agree on – the second wing shelter makes the first a lot more interesting.

Well, for someone who said they felt a bit rusty writing write ups, I really wittered on for that single scene, didn’t I? In fairness, I knew I would have a lot to say about it, it being the first scene for the season. Not sure I expected to go for 3K+ words though… That said, the end of this scene and the arrival of present day seems like a good place to wrap this part up (plus it will give me a nice little placard image to head the next part up with, you know how I love those!), so for now… Questions, comments, discussion: always welcome! Hope to see in the next one 😊

[critterbitter]

AAAAAAUGH THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE OUTPOOR OF LOVE-

This hyperfixation probably would have burned out if it wasn’t for your kind comments! I really appreciate yall :,)

Individual response and bonus art under cut

Sleepy guys as a treat!

(Now, for the individual asks:

@raisansgrapeon hope the art is watering they crops! Hehe.

@getshorked Oh man thank you so much! I love reading what people leave behind and yeah, the boys and their pokemon make me go :)))))

@madredhattie I WILL MAKE THE TRAINROT EVERYBODY’S PROBLEM (pats the guys) THEY CAN FIT SO MUCH SIBLING SHENANIGANS

@lum1n0s1ty223 TY TY I rrreaaaally wanted to channel the goofy on these guys. Gotta draw them as adults more, cause i feel like the goofy factor magnifies with time. Anyways! UH YES ingo and emmet definitely would love to build gingerbread houses. It’s like legos, but in the end you can eat your creations and pretend to be godzilla (dragonit’illa? Hmm. More pending on that train of thought for later.)

@sapphirecereal My art on Your Dash? More likely then you think! (Its cause people are kind enough to reblog, and I am so so so thankful people are cool to do that. Ah, tumblr.)

@mynamesaplant AYY the banner’s a sketch of the trio I ended up coloring! I wanted to post that artwork immediately after I made it but held off cause I had to finish the “emmet has an imposters syndrome moment” comic. You’ll see it when the time comes tho >:) (AND TY)

@theladydracula pokemon found family, my beloved. Glad you’re having a good time on the ride!

@roxasthatisastick YES JOIN ME IN THE WELL WE CAN FIGHT SUBMAS BRAINWORMS TOGETHER. BUT ALSO YoOOO if you could @ me when the ingo fic drops i’d appreciate it a lot! Submas fandom feed me im begging you-